Bleeding Rose
by Lady Irish Rose
Summary: Prince Tristan, the son of Ella and Char, fishes a maiden from the icy waters of the Lucarno. He revives her and brings her back to Kyrria. Everything goes downhill from there. ON HIATUS and NEW AUTHOR'S NOTE CHAPTER ONE
1. Discovery

**As of June 03, 2006: **In response to one reviewer who calls me out for being rude though she had absolutely no idea why there is a gap in updating, I'll explain. I'm sorry, but one: I've got writer's block, which seems to be affecting some other stories. Two: I'm under a great deal of stress right now as it is with personal issues. I've just worked ten hours today and am dead tired on my feet and I was actually going to try and write up a chapter, but now I'm just a little bit miffed. I'm graduating in four days, going on vacation to visit family in seven days, and then I will be preparing for college on top of working. Now, add all that to my lack of ideas, and maybe you get the picture. I will get back to this story eventually. Sending me reviews like Miss Sydney, however flattering it might be that people love my story so, is not appreciated. Word to the wise, don't do it. I don't care if you nag at me gently, but I have a short temper as it is. This is why I never nag at people who don't update the stories I'm reading because I actually understand where they might be coming from. I don't know what's going on, so I don't think I have the right to call them rude or uncaring for not updating.

Sorry for coming off so bitchy, but I'm really tired.

**Title: **Bleeding Rose

**Summary: **Ella and Char's son, Tristan, did not foresee the consequences of breathing life back into a drowned maiden floating in the River Lucarno. Now he must use every ounce of wit, strength, and courage he possesses to deal with the onslaught of deadly blood feuds, struggles for a throne, a criminally insane sorceress hell bent on subverting mankind to her own macabre designs, and the fate of his own kingdom hanging precariously over the balance.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing original of anything. Everything that is original from Ella Enchanted or any of Gail Carson Levine's books belongs solely to her. Not me. Capishe? I own some characters, the plot of this fic, the Empire of Ecóran and anything that pertains to it, and some other tidbits that come from that wacky imagination of mine.

**A/N: **This is most definitely a lot darker and more dramatic than Ella Enchanted. If that isn't exactly your cup of tea, then don't read it. Don't bother flaming me because it will not deter me from writing what my muse demands. But if really desire to make yourself look like a jackass, then by all means….

_**IMPORTANT: **_Btw, I don't know what the rules of inheritance are in Kyrria or whatnot, but I assume it's firstborn male. Tough shit! In this fic, it's firstborn. Get over it. My world, my rules. Oh and don't confuse the title with anything pertaining to other fairy tales, or at least the more famous ones. This has nothing to do with Sleeping Beauty or anything else.

**Rating: **The rating is a general PG-13, almost over the edge, but not quite if you catch my drift save for a few select chapters that will go up to R for extreme content, all of which I shall promptly post rating warnings on for those with delicate minds. No offense meant, it's just I know some avid readers like that.

* * *

Strolling at a casual gait through the thick forest, the driver of the orange coach whistled a jaunty tune as he guided the frisky beasts towards Frell, the city where the rulers of the kingdom of Kyrria dwelt. The leaves were a blazoning myriad of radiant reds, and oranges, and yellows as they swayed gently over the pathways in the autumn wind. The driver shivered a bit at the crispness of the early morning air and drew his thick, black cloak tighter about his shoulders and flicked the reins to incite the horses to trot a bit faster. 

Nestled safely inside the warmth of the pumpkin colored carriage—which had been the rather odd queen of Kyrria's idea—were a boy and girl of seventeen years of age. Both sported dark, glossy brown tresses, normally fair skin that was now bronzed slightly due to the summer sun, small rounded faces with a dusting of freckles across the nose, and bottle green eyes that sparkled with humor and a spot of mischief. They were the twin children of King Charmont and Queen Eleanor of Kyrria, Prince Tristan and Princess Lilliana.

Tristan, the slightly elder and self-perceived wiser of the two, was currently trying to bury himself in a thick book on the history of Ayortha that his noble hosts had been so gracious to bestow upon he and his sister as a parting gift. Unfortunately, his attempts at mentally evading his sister's jabbering were all to no avail as he could still hear her prattling on about nothing. And this book was rather boring.

_Fancy that, a book about Ayortha is _boring, he mused to himself silently.

Lilliana had been in withdrawal of talkative human companionship for nearly five months. The Ayorthians were a quiet lot who perceived conversation as something to be done only when absolutely necessary, which in their minds meant almost never. Char, their father, had told them of his yearlong visit to the kingdom when he had been a few years older than his two youngest children were. He often commented on the Ayorthians' tendency to avoid speaking casually at all costs in public as if it were something scandalous. This was bad news for Lilliana who was one of the most gregarious and extroverted people in the world.

Most everyone else, including their own Kyrrian Royal Court and visiting dignitaries, became instantly enamored of the young princess due to her likeable charm. Only the Ayorthians hadn't taken to her charms quite as readily as everyone else had and it had been rather off-putting to Lilliana. The only ones that had been charmed by her quickly were their Aunt Areida's sons, Arrin and Coram of Amonta.

Now, she was making up for holding all those whizzing thoughts under lock and key in her brimming mind. She had worked so hard to exercise self-control over her runaway mouth, but once she let loose a few contemplations the rest followed suit. And Tristan was suffering the brunt of it. He loved his twin very much, truly he did, but she could be so exasperating at times.

"Tristan, we must find someway to convince Papa that I should be allowed to train in combat. It's not like I want to go off to war, although I could hardly say no if it were absolutely necessary, but I do want to be able to protect myself," Lilly said. Unlike most obsessions that hit Lilly, this one about combat had stuck for years.

Tristan sighed and massaged his temples. "What do you need to protect yourself for, we have _bodyguards_ to do that for us."

His twin promptly responded with a raised eyebrow and pointed glare. "So do you, and so do all our male cousins, and so does Papa, but they still got to be trained in sword fighting and the like. I do not know what your problem with it all is."

Tristan shrugged his shoulders at Lilly's remark and responded in a dry voice, "Violence and the use of weapons have never appealed to me. I do not know why it should appeal to you."

Lilly took on a serious expression and murmured darkly, "Because I am forbidden from it. No other girls are; just me. Just because I am a damn princess and I have to set a lady-like example. Honestly, it's not like I am the heir either. Ellie is; she can be the damn example!"

Tristan laid a hand on his sister's knees to placate her and then quirked a strange smile. "You and I both know Ellie isn't a lady. I thought we agreed she was kidnapped by ogres at birth and replaced with one of their slimy young."

Lilly snorted and her mood was lightened slightly at she and her brother's inside joke for their nineteen-year-old sister, Eleanor. She was named after their mother like all firstborn daughters in their mother's family were, but just as their mother preferred to be called Ella, their sister preferred to be called Ellie. Shrewd, calculating, and extremely intimidating in her own right, Ellie was the perfect candidate to take on the throne when the time came. Since she had been properly made privy to the fact that she was the heiress to the throne of Kyrria in her status as firstborn child she had immersed herself in the politics of the kingdom. She was deadly intent on ensuring that her reign over the kingdom would be fruitful one.

She attended court assemblies with her parents daily, consulted with her parents and dozens of advisors over different proclamations, and even drew up plans for ideas to bolster the economy of Kyrria. She bore no interest to the fighting arts for herself personally like her younger sister did, but she was quite clever in the rules of warfare and the strategic battle techniques one had to so often use. Their father often joked he had might as well step down and relax to let Ellie barrel on ahead to do all the work. There was no doubt that she would be a fine leader of their beloved kingdom.

Somehow, down in the deepest recesses of their hearts, Tristan and Lilly did love their elder sister, but most of the time they resented that haughty swagger of hers as she sauntered through the hallways of the palace en route to some important meeting. They remembered a time when she had been fun; when she had gone hunting, fishing, riding, camping, hiking, swimming, or anything pertaining to fun with them. Thoughts of the future were so dominating in her drive that she no longer had time for the present and it positively sucked in their opinion.

A slight cramp in his leg jolted Tristan out of his thoughts and he fancied that it was time for a break. He sorely needed to stretch his legs and he needed to get away from Lilly's incessant chatter for a while. He opened one of the carriage windows and yelled for the driver and the surrounding knight-bodyguards and servants on horseback to halt for a short break.

Lilly tightened her dark, crimson red cloak draping elegantly over her pale rose-colored traveling gown to ward off the coolness of the air holding the grim hint of colder weather to come. She grimaced at the thought of winter for she hated cold weather with a passion. Taking the proffered hand of a guard, Lilly stepped down from the carriage.

Tristan raised an eyebrow and snorted wryly at his sister. "What is this? The little warrior-princess to be needs help stepping from a carriage?"

Lilly merely shrugged and said nonchalantly, "I never said there was anything wrong with chivalry."

Lilly sat down on a blanket spread out by the servants that had accompanied them and dined on a brisk lunch of meat and cheese while chatting amiably with their subjects. Tristan took his twin's preoccupation as an opportunity to obtain some much-needed solitude, however temporary it would be. He informed his guards that he was going for a short walk around the area—which he knew fairly well—with a promise to stay within reasonable shouting distance. He refused their offers to shadow him by insisting that he would be in no danger and if so he would certainly be close enough to garner their attention.

Tristan deftly treaded along the blanketed forest while stopping occasionally to collect a medicinal herb or plant to take back to the Kyrrian healing mistress, who was also his teacher. While his sisters, Ellie and Lilly, possessed passions for politics and combat respectively, he on the other hand was entranced by the art of healing. His greatest desire was to become a renowned doctor, skilled in all manners of healing so he would be able to travel all over the world to offer his services where it would be less available. He was very thankful he didn't have the burden of ruling a family being held over him like his sister. At least he did not envy Ellie that.

He stooped by the bank of the River Lucarno and whispered a jaunty tune similar to the one his driver had been whistling, a tune from Ayortha, and dug up some roots from a plant that was used for pain relief. His jade-green eyes occasionally shifted to the frigid waters of the river drifting languidly by. A pang of nostalgia for the summer days long ago when Ellie had been enjoyable to be around for long periods of time and he and his twin sister had lived within bubbles of innocence. He would give anything to feel that confident security again, but alas, as the amount of years one spends in life gets larger, the innocence gets smaller. He remembered the summers that they would spend days just swimming in the river and picnicking on its banks.

His eyes glanced over a log floating by and he casually turned away. Seeing stray bits of wood floating in the river was not uncommon and he dismissed it immediately. When he happened to look upon it again, he glanced at something that did merit attention.

A body was draped over the large piece of tree with the upper half being held up above the water by the wood and the lower half enshrouded by the frigid liquid. Tristan gasped and quickly shot to his feet, while unclasping his long cloak and shedding his royal blue sleeveless tunic covering his white, long-sleeved shirt. He called out to the rest of the party before splashing into the river. He yelped in displeasure as his skin made contact with the freezing water, but shook it off and continued to wade deeper out. Right as the rest of the group came running to the bank, the body slipped off the log and sank underneath the dark water. Tristan cursed and prepared to dive under.

"Tristan, you dolt! Are you insane? That water is freezing! Get back here this instant before I throttle you!" Lilly's cries pierced the air as fear for her brother's life took hold.

"Your Highness, I implore you. Please come back! Your parents will have my head if you drown!" Sir Gregory, Tristan's chief bodyguard, pleaded. He was shedding his own plate armor in preparation for going after his charge.

"Someone's in the river and they're unconscious! They'll drown if I don't get to them!" Tristan cried back before diving under.

Lilly slammed her foot down on the ground as a combination of fear, perplexity, and complete fury directed towards that dratted twin of hers threw her into a pacing frenzy. She would have waded in there herself and dragged his insolent hide back to shore were her guards not surrounding her at the moment. They most certainly would have foiled that rescue attempt by pulling her back. Though she commanded authority over them generally, in situations when her safety was compromised they had full reign.

More guards were shedding their armor to go in after their mad prince. Her anxious ladies-in-waiting assailed the princess as they watched the guards go into the river. Everyone released breaths no one knew he or she had been holding when Tristan surfaced.

Lilly took it as a chance to yell out to him again, "Now, can you get back here before you freeze!"

Tristan gestured for them to wait a little while longer. He dove under again causing Lilly to cry out in frustration and resume her pacing. It was an agonizingly long time before he surfaced again, sputtering and coughing up river water and hanging onto a limp person. As he swam closer, Lilly and the others could see that it was a girl he was holding. He met one of his guards two-thirds of the way back and the guard took the girl from him while another helped to drag him forward.

The guard laid the girl down on the river bank and Lilly ran forward to grasp her brother's freezing hands and yank him forward. A servant draped his cloak around him and another wrapped a thick blanket round him to warm him up. He was visibly shaking from the cold and his lips were turning a bluish color. The prince's guards started bustling around him like nursemaids before he yelled out in a commanding voice, "Let me see to her!"

He made a beeline for the young lady lying on the cold, hard ground. His sister followed with an annoyed expression on her face and stooped down beside the girl. She looked to Sir Gregory, the one who had carried her out of the river, and he shook his head regretfully.

She gasped when she got a better look at the girl's condition. Not only was she freezing to the touch, her skin was ashen and her body was covered with bruises and wounds ranging from superficial cuts to deeper scratches to stab wounds. Her once fine gown was stained with blood, mud, and soaked from river water and it was ripped beyond repair. Her right arm was situated in an unnatural angle belying breaks in more than once place. The crimson thread of a cut forming a jagged, oblique pathway across the entire area marred her forehead. The rest of her face was filled with small cuts and her right eye was bruised badly.

Tristan's medical training kicked in after the initial shock at seeing the girl's horrendous state. He cleared away the sopping strands of hair plastered to her face and leaned forward to put his ear to her blue lips. He was dismayed when he heard no breath and was further dismayed when he felt no pulse. He instantly placed both his hands on her chest and began to compress rhythmically, while occasionally pinching her nose and breathing into her mouth. He tried desperately to get her heart started again. He did not even consider the fact that she might have already been dead by the time she sank into the water, he just kept trying and trying to incite a breath.

Lilly shook her head despairingly and felt tears unbidden sting the back of her eyes. She did not know this girl, but she already felt a sort of grief for her death. "Tristan, it's no use. She's—"

The princess was cut off by a hoarse retching sound as the seemingly dead girl came back to life and spewed up river water and other fluids Lilly could have gone without seeing. She gasped for air and continued to heave and cough. The girl sat up, subconsciously cradling her broken arm to her body, and leaned forward on one hand as she expelled all the river water that had filled her lungs. Her body shook from the effects of hypothermia and her teeth chattered. Tristan draped his own blanket around her shoulders, while smiling encouragingly. The girl peered warily through a curtain of sodden locks at her surroundings. She looked down at her body and then back to Tristan and Lilly, staring at her in concern and surprise.

Tristan cleared his throat and spoke softly, "It is all right, my lady. You are safe now."

The girl gave the closest impression she was able to at the moment of an ironic laugh and replied ominously in an almost guttural voice, "Never safe," before collapsing into Lilly's lap. Lilly stared down at the girl in incredulity before meeting the troubled gaze of her twin's. The servants and guards forming a circle around them whispered noisily in amazement.

After a beat, Tristan rose and addressed the people around him, "Wrap her up in more blankets and bring her to the carriage. I will attend to her until we reach the palace and then she shall be given over to the care of the palace physicians."

Sir Gregory gently brought the girl into his arms and cradled her against his chest, adding his own warmth to her freezing body. He carried the girl to the orange coach and after his prince and princess settled themselves in, set the girl on a bundle of blankets. After everyone else was ready to leave, the driver flicked the reins and set the horses off at a much faster pace than before. It would take hours to get back to the palace and they would be well into late afternoon by then. The girl would need proper medical attention before it was too late.

* * *

King Charmont of Kyrria, known to his closest consorts and family as Char, looked upon the deathly pale maiden whom his son had rescued from the cold waters of the River Lucarno and breathed life back into. Anger surged through his veins at the thought of what she had suffered to end up in this atrocious condition. Who could do something like this to a young girl? 

His wife, Queen Eleanor, better known as Ella, ran a finger over the girl's bruised, white hand and whimpered softly. "She's so young, barely older than our Lilly. Who would do such a thing, Char?"

Char sighed as his love asked the same question aloud he had been thinking. He shook his head and murmured, "I do not know, Ella. I simply do not know."

The girl's wounds had been bandaged and taken into account to try and garner some inkling of what had happened to her. A dozen palace physicians, including the mistress healer, had attended to the young lady for hours in the sole attempt at warming her body up. They forced warm liquids down her throat and placed hot water bottles under her body while wrapping her up in thick blankets. The wounds requiring suturing, including the ones on her left shoulder and the front of her right thigh, were promptly stitched up and wrapped in poultices and her broken arm was set to its proper position and held immobile in a splint.

Their eldest child, Ellie, stood on the other side of the girl's bed with an unreadable expression set upon her sharp, dusky features. Her tawny locks were not up in the usual bun, but hung down her back in soft curls. Her head was tilted slightly to betray her deep pensive mood. After a while, her brow furrowed and she turned her piercing blue eyes towards her parents. "Mother, Father, does she look…familiar to you?"

Ella and Char exchanged perplexed looks at their daughter's question, but took a closer look at the girl. After her hair had dried a bit, they saw it was turning a beautiful shade of golden amber brown that hung down to her elbows. Her face was not extraordinarily beautiful like that of Princess Cecilia's, Char's younger sister, but had a certain prettiness to it all on its own—the cuts and bruises aside. Her nose was smallish and pert; her eyes were evenly placed under golden-brown eyebrows; her mouth was vulnerably soft with full lips promising a rosy color at full health. An examination by the female healers had been able to narrow her age down to somewhere in her late teens; near the age of Tristan and Lilly's seventeen. She had medium-sized, but full, rounded breasts with modest curves and shapely legs to complete her attractive feminine figure.

Ella felt the sensation of dèjá vu enfold her after staring at the girl for a while. But she could not recall the foggiest instance where she had met or seen the child. She had a face that was subtly lovely, but it was not a face that would stick out in a crowd. The once-fineness of her violet gown had inferred a girl of at least wealthy background, if not noble or royal. But the girl could just as easily have stolen the gown from a family that was wealthy and had been caught and punished. But that seemed very unlikely if the girl was familiar to the royal family of Kyrria.

She looked to her husband and saw that he too was feeling the elusive sense of recognition. "Now that I think about it, she does look rather familiar. But I cannot seem to recall where I saw her."

"I cannot either, Father. It is like the memories from when I was young. They are fuzzy and unclear to me, but as real as any sharp memory from recent history," Ellie intoned softly, her face still frowning.

Whispered conversation caused the three royals to turn their attention to the Jasmine, the mistress healer, and Tristan and Lilly. Tristan was wrapped in a thick cloak and seemed to have suffered no long-term ill effects from the unexpected swim in the river.

"But will she awaken?" they heard Lilly ask solemnly.

Jasmine bowed to her king and queen before answering the young princess's question. "It's hard to say, Your Highness. In cases like these it's different for everyone. She could awaken anytime from three hours from now to three days to three weeks to…never."

Lilly blanched at the thought and glanced in concern at her twin brother. His demeanor betrayed his distraught attitude towards his mentor's dim prognosis. She knew her twin all too well and she knew he was burning to find out where this girl came from and what had happened to put her in such a predicament. Mysteries had the tendency to drive Tristan insane until he or someone else solved them. If he was not able to understand something that most certainly could eventually be understood…well he was not among the most pleasant people to be in the vicinity of.

"Jasmine, what do you think happened to her?" Tristan asked, desperate for some piece of this tantalizing puzzle.

Jasmine rubbed her temples and said, "The most I can deduce is what is obvious. She must have been attacked, because not all of these wounds were caused by a fall or a push into the river. Whether the battle was happenstance or pre-meditated we shall not know unless she awakens and tells us."

"Poor child," Ella breathed sorrowfully.

"There are some other things I found rather strange, but intriguing about this girl when I examined her, Your Majesties," Jasmine told them. She walked to the girl's side and gently lifted the arm that was not broken and pulled the sleeve of the white hospital gown to bare the naked, bruised flesh of her arm. "See the muscle tone," Jasmine pointed out. Indeed, the girl's arm was not soft as most girls' arms of wealthy background were wont to be. There were small (after all, girls can only obtain so much muscle mass before looking very unattractive), hard muscles there.

"It's the same all over her body. Her abdominal muscles, calves, thighs…she's in fit shape. This was a girl who was not idle. At first, I believed her to be a peasant farm girl since it is mostly those girls who have such strength in their arms and such muscle. Yet, she has does not show the markings of a rough life on the farm and of course the fine gown did not add credibility to that theory. To gain muscles like that would mean she would have some roughness to her, scarring and calluses and the like. Then I saw this."

Jasmine lifted the limp left hand and showed them faint scars on the flimsy web of flesh connecting the thumb and forefinger. The scars were thin, whitish lines located perpendicular to the thumb and forefinger and appeared to be old and long healed. Closer looks showed that more than one scar lie over top of another showing she obtained the small wound over and over again from a long time ago.

A sharp intake of breath was heard from the king as he came to realize what Jasmine was getting to. "That's the sort of wound one normally gets in sword-training. It comes from the inexperienced cutting themselves upon sheathing and drawing their swords; the blade slices the skin between the thumb and forefinger of the hand holding the scabbard sometimes. I've never done it that I can remember, but two of my brothers have done it. Darron did it so often my mother feared he would slice clear through his skin one of those times."

"So she knew how to wield a sword. That tells us nothing really," Ellie declared coldly.

"It does give us a bit more insight into the girl. And we could use all we find, Ellie, if we are to help her," her mother countered gently.

"It does not necessarily mean she knows how to wield a sword, Your Highness, merely that she was trained at some point in time. Judging from the scars, it took her a while to sheathe and withdraw her sword without cutting herself, which means she was probably trained at a young age or was a bit slow to learn. But for all I can tell, she could be rather horrid at it. That she did much strenuous exercise is evident," Jasmine clarified, laying the girl's hand to rest on her stomach.

"It also shows she was right-handed if that's worth anything," Lilly interjected lamely.

After a beat of silence, Char yawned and draped an arm over his wife. "Unless you have any other enlightening news, Lady Jasmine, it is rather late and we should retire to sleep."

"Of course, Your Majesty. If anything else of interest comes up I shall notify you and the queen immediately. And Her Royal Highness as well," Jasmine said, bowing in deference to her lieges and the crown princess.

Tristan cleared his throat in a very conspicuously inconspicuous way of letting Jasmine know that he too wished to be notified. Char smiled and nodded his head. "Since Tristan and Lilly were the ones to bring her to us and my son did rescue her, it is only fair that they too are notified. Satisfied, Tristan?" The king smiled wryly at his son.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Jasmine complied, winking at Tristan. He probably would be among the first to know anything if Jasmine knew her young pupil at all.

The king and queen left with Ellie following close behind, leaving Jasmine, Tristan, and Lilly with the slumbering girl. Soon Lilly and Jasmine departed leaving only Tristan to watch over her. The prince stood there, staring intently at the girl, trying to discern an inkling of information from her enigmatic presence. He felt the effects of fatigue gnaw at him and weaken his strong resolve. Finally, he turned away with a discouraged sigh to go to bed. He would be forced to wait an agonizing amount of time until she woke up to explain who she was and what had happened. He was going to go insane with curiosity before that.

Tristan sighed wearily and muttered to no one in particular as he trudged to his private quarters, "She better awaken soon."


	2. Awakening

Days and weeks passed by and still the girl remained in her coma-like state. Nurses continually changed the poultice wrappings and made sure to keep the girl hydrated and warm. Her temperature had gone up to a suitable level and had everyone breathing easy. Now, they just had to keep it from going too high. The girl was not completely out of danger yet though her condition, slowly but surely, continued to improve.

Everyone was speaking of the young maiden, within and outside the palace. They, like their prince, were eager to know what had happened to her that he should find her in such horrendous condition, floating in the Lucarno and nearly dead. They did not yet know that she was technically dead by the time she had been dragged to the riverbank, only to be revived by Tristan quickly afterward.

As for Tristan himself, he spent most of his time by the girl's bedside watching the slow up and down movement of her chest, willing her to wake up and solve this mystery for him. She had become an acute obsession of a sort for dark-haired young man…an obsession his friends and family took great pains to tease him about. The only one who did not tease him was the palace's most prestigious cook, Mandy, who was also Tristan's godmother.

On the outside, Mandy seemed like any other ordinary, middle-aged woman. With the exception of her phenomenal cooking skills and her special, cure-all tonic, Mandy was indeed no different than any other woman. Only four people knew of the woman's true identity and they were Ella and her three children. Even Char had no idea that the cook from his wife's family had truly been with Ella's family since before her great-grandmother's time. He did not know that his children and his wife were the godchildren of a fairy. It was strictly on a need-to-know basis for this and Ella had never found that Char really needed to know.

One morning,a little overthreeweeks after the girl had been brought to the Kyrrian royal palace, Tristan sat staring forlornly out of a window in the kitchens while Mandy chopped up carrots for stew. He had sought the kitchens for refuge from the rest of the world for a while. It was a place he could come and just think without much distraction for the servants working there understood to leave him be. Well, he could always do that in his bedchamber as well, but here there was food.

"Mandy, isn't there something you could do to make her wake up?" Tristan asked absent-mindedly.

Why he asked he had no idea because Mandy was strict about using her fairy magic. Magic of the sort he wanted used was known as "big magic" and his godmother did not do big magic. It was big magic that had entrapped his mother in a prison of obedience thanks to the lackadaisical Lucinda.

"No, love. You know I can't do that," Mandy replied gently, still chopping with unerring precision.

"Yeah, I knew that. Forget I asked," Tristan said glumly.

Mandy stopped chopping for a moment to look upon her godson. Sunlight slanting through the window shone upon the boy's near-black hair and made it gloriously shiny. His features were soft, almost feminine, but belied a strong will, a steady and bright mind, and a certain quirky charm. No doubt that particular charm was inherited from his mother, Mandy thought proudly to herself.

Though she never said it aloud, Tristan was her favorite godchild. He was the perfect mix of his mother and father whereas Lilly was almost completely like her mother and Ellie had grown into the mold of her father. It was fitting, she figured, since he was the only boy and the middle child at that. He was clever and witty like his mother, loyal and committed like his father, and he possessed other traits that were completely his own.

Her heart ached for the turmoil inside him caused by that insatiable curiosity of his and the girl in the infirmary. She set down her chopping knife and walked over to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry, Tristan, the lass will awaken on her own time and no one else's. She has a stubborn look about her. I'll wager she'll wake up when she's ready to be apart of this world again. You mustn't forget about the terrible things that must have happened to her. Perhaps it is those things that keep her in a coma because she is too afraid to face them."

Guilt filled Tristan's green orbs and he turned away from his godmother. How could he be so selfish and arrogant to think the girl would awaken when he wanted her to? Why had he let himself forget about what happened to her? Surely, whatever happened would have been quite traumatizing. But the complete lack of any useful knowledge was gnawing at his insides and kept him awake at night.

Sometimes, he wondered whether Lucinda had cast another curse upon the family, this time on him, giving him a voracious appetite of curiosity. But his parents had assured him that this was not the case and he was merely naturally this way. It didn't make him feel much better.

"I should probably go see if Jasmine needs some help in the infirmary," Tristan said far too casually to fool his shrewd godmother.

She cocked an eyebrow and smirked at his attempt in covering up his ulterior motive for going to the infirmary.

"Come now, Tristan, you don't have to lie to me. We both know you're going to sit at that child's bedside and try and make her awaken with your thoughts," she told him in exasperation.

Tristan merely shook his head in response with a slight smile to grace his features. He grabbed a biscuit and walked out of the kitchens and down the winding corridors to the infirmary. He waltzed in among the cursory bows of assorted nurses and physicians attending to patients and carting supplies around. He walked over to where a young nurse was wiping the girl's brow and another was changing the poultice wraps on her leg and around her abdomen.

"No change?" Tristan asked wearily, already knowing the answer to that question.

The nurse with the red-gold curls spilling over her forehead and around her crisp, white gown shook her head apologetically. "Sorry, Your Highness. Her condition is the same as always."

Jasmine appeared beside the nurses and she nodded at her apprentice's presence. "Tristan, fancy seeing you here," she drawled sarcastically. Her coffee colored skin glistened with sweat and her dark eyes looked tired and worn. She must have been up late with the poor victims of the fire at the market place.

Tristan sighed and pulled up a chair to sit in. "You look terrible, Jasmine. Why don't you get some rest and I'll take over for you?" he suggested kindly.

Jasmine looked about to decline his generous offer, but the lure of her soft warm bed tantalized her and she was forced to accept the proposal. In order to keep her reputation intact, she put on a very annoyed expression and huffed, "Very well, Your Highness. If you insist." She stalked off the premises with her head held high to crush any doubts about her stamina. Jasmine of Frell was an extremely proud woman…possibly too proud.

Tristan smiled wryly at his teacher's departure and shook his head. He sat there at the girl's bedside, just watching her like he always did, before getting up and attending to other patients like he promised he would. He examined injuries, ministered to those with illnesses, prescribed some forms of nostrum, and had young servants send medical supplies and medicines to the daily delivery carriage, which carried those things to the other villages of Kyrria. He was so intent on this work that it almost completely took his mind off the mysterious girl. She merely lurked there in the back of his mind as an ever-present shadow.

Around noontime, many of the nurses and physicians were taking turns for lunch breaks. He took the time to visit the girl out of habit. He was surprised to see his twin sister sitting by the bed, holding the girl's hand and humming softly under her breath. He had not expected Lilly to be so compassionate, but then he was quite the expert at underestimating people.

"Afternoon, Lilly," he greeted, sitting down across from her.

"Hello. I just wanted to see how she was doing. I thought she might respond to some musical stimulation," Lilly explained, reddening slightly that her brother had caught her in the act.

It was well known she had a very lovely voice…well known to everyone except Lilly herself. She never had that much confidence in any of her abilities. Tristan often wondered how she could be so self-doubting all the time.

"That's very kind of you. And yes, sometimes they do respond to music. Music is the abstract blood of life, after all," Tristan assured her, giving her an appreciative smile.

Lilly smiled faintly and then eyed him suspiciously. "How much sleep have you been getting, Tristan?"

Tristan shifted nervously in his seat as his sister's eyes burned a hole right through his inner most thoughts. He had the strangest sensation that she was able to discern his every secret at that moment. It was no use trying to lie to her then. It never really had been any use.

"Well, I've been having a bit of trouble sleeping," Tristan admitted sheepishly.

"A bit? Tristan, you look awful," Lilly said, her voice full of worry.

Tristan waved his hand to shrug off the questions and concerns. "I'm fine, Lilly. Really."

Lilly just sighed and shook her head at her brother's stubborn pig-headedness. He was so well adept at pointing other people's defects and illnesses, but he remained quite ignorant of his own. He left it up to the rest of the family to notice it for him.

Her heart thumped painfully in her chest when she felt the limp hand enfolded by her own stir. Her jade-green eyes widened and she whispered hoarsely, "Tristan, I think she's waking up."

Tristan, who had been turning to leave and cater to other patients, snapped around with wide, hopeful eyes. He stalked up to the bed and leaned in close. Sure enough, the girl's eyelids were flickering open and shut as if she could not decide whether she wanted to awaken or not. Soft moans escaped from her chapped lips as she pulled her hand away from the princess and laid it on her own forehead.

"Should I go get Jasmine?" Lilly asked her brother breathlessly, never taking her eyes off the stirring form.

"No, not just yet," Tristan replied.

The girl's eyes then snapped open with a sudden gasp for breath and she shot up into a sitting position, using her uninjured arm for support. Tristan and Lilly instantly came forward to grab a shoulder each as the steadied her. The girl continued to whimper uncontrollably, probably from the remembered terror of her ordeal.

"Slowly…slowly…my lady. You do not want to give yourself any more unnecessary stress," Tristan cautioned gently.

The girl shrank back from their touch and made out like she was going to fight for a moment before pulling her limbs close to herself while looking at them with those same wary eyes they had seen when they first encountered her. Whatever she had been through, it must have been really terrible because she was quivering in fear of them. They had to get it across that they were not going to hurt her.

"It's all right, my lady. You're safe. We mean you no harm. My brother has taken care of you since we found you in the Lucarno and you have been in this bed every day thereafter asleep in a coma. We are gladdened by your awakening," Lilly told her soothingly.

The girl's eyes flashed dangerously for a moment before being replaced with a multitude of emotions. Confusion seemed to be the most prominent of those emotions. As Tristan looked into her wild eyes, he noticed that they were a soft golden hazel color; quite lovely actually. Her hair adorned her head in a golden-amber curtain of shining locks that spilled over her narrow shoulders, covering up the bandage on her one shoulder.

"Maybe she does not understand us, Lilly. She looks quite confused," Tristan told his sister in a quiet voice.

"But she spoke to us in Kyrrian on the bank, remember? She said, 'never safe,'" Lilly reminded him.

A raspy, weak voice broke into their conversation. "Who are you?"

Her voice bore a peculiar accent, but it did not sound Ayorthian or like any neighboring kingdom he knew of. It was her tone of voice that was more noticeable and it added credit to the theory of the girl being of noble or royal background for it bore the tone of one who is used to giving orders and having them obeyed.

"I am Prince Tristan of Kyrria; son of King Charmont and Queen Eleanor of Kyrria. This is my twin sister, Princess Lilliana. You are in the Royal Infirmary in the royal palace of the city of Frell, Kyrria's capital," Tristan told her.

The girl mouthed Kyrria silently as if she had never heard the name before and looked downwards. Her brow was creased in a deep frown of utter bewilderment as she scrutinized the bandages on her arms and the splint her right arm was encased in. She lifted her head to her face to run her fingers over the faint scars left by the deep scratches that had to be stitched up; her eye wascompletely healed by now. After a few moments of stunned silence at her condition she swiveled her head around the infirmary slowly, studying her surroundings, before turning her haunted gaze back on Tristan and Lilly.

"What…happened to me?" she ventured, her voice still weak and raspy from weeks of silence.

Tristan and Lilly exchanged alarmed and confused looks as they sought to understand the girl's question. Tristan began to feel a thick, roiling mass of dread begin to take form in his gut. _Oh, don't tell me, please. _

Lilly raised an eyebrow and said, "We were hoping you would tell us."

The girl did not say anything to that, looking away from the penetrating gazes of Tristan and Lilly. She lifted a shaking pale hand and looked at the scarred limb. Her bruises and superficial cuts had healed nicely leaving lingering marks and scars, but not disfiguring marks.

"What is your name?" Tristan queried, hoping what he was thinking was not true. _Oh please, don't let it be true._

Fearful realization and confusion passed over the girl's solemn features and she looked back up at Tristan with those wide hazel eyes. Her voice sounded clearer as she said in a humorlessly sardonic voice, "If you don't know that either then I daresay we're all out of luck."

She took a deep breath before continuing, "Because I don't remember a whit of anything. At least not a whit that makes sense."

The girl looked over herself again and cringed while muttering, "Probably just as well. It doesn't look very pleasant."

Damn. She had amnesia.

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I would like to thank **Cynthia **and **Quill Her Solitude Darkness **(exactly how many times have you changed your penname?)for reviewing.

I already have three chapters written, and, unless I get better response, I think those will be the only ones written. I have other stories to attend to that are given far more review attention.


	3. Shattered

Screaming. The acrid smell of blood, smoke, burning flesh, and death all rolled together into one great stench. Fear, shock, pain, rage, and grief all combined into one horrific emotion.

The feel of a small child's hand slipping from her own.

The sensation of falling. Cold. Oh so very cold. So cold it stings to the bone worse even then the bleeding wounds.

Desire for death; for the pain to go away; for the cold to go away. Numbness. Lassitude. Sleep…sleeping forever. Slipping away into darkness.

Then light and faces; a dark-haired boy and girl with bright green eyes looking upon her with concern and curiosity.

Then the questions; the questions she couldn't answer even had she tried. They asked what had happened to her.

She didn't know.

They asked her name.

She didn't know.

That was pretty much the summary of what she remembered. Her memory was fragmented into a million conflicting pieces with several million more missing in the impenetrable fog of amnesia. She struggled to force her mind to relive what had happened so these terrifying flashes of broken threads of memory would make sense. But it was all to no avail and she soon gave herself a headache over it.

For the moment, she was simply content to just let the nurses pour steamy water over her bare body as they bathed her. The hot water engulfing her aching limbs and washing over her scarred skin felt so nice she wanted to lie in that bathtub forever. Unfortunately, that was not to be so. As soon as they were done washing the cleansing substances out of her hair, she was wrapped up in warm, snowy white towels and they were rubbed all over her to dry. Then it was back to wearing a plain, white gown although this one was a fresh one. She had to admit she was slightly disappointed over that. She had actually wanted one of the pretty gowns the princess had been wearing.

She had to be practically carried back to her bed because the injury to her thigh made it extremely painful to walk. When she did try to put weight on it she gasped from the feel of a million needles of pain shooting through her leg and quickly brought it up to hop around on her uninjured leg.It was hard to walk on her uninjured leg as well...three weeks of lying in a bedhad that particular effect upon one's limbs.It was most degrading.

When she returned to her bed, she was surprised by the appearance of more people. The brother and sister with the dark hair and jade-green eyes were there, but standing beside them was a tall, stern looking young woman with dusky skin, shrewd blue eyes, and golden hair pulled back in an elaborate bun with jewels threaded throughout her hair. A small circlet of silver was set upon her head and a diamond rested in the middle of her forehead atop the silver. An older man and woman were also there; the king and queen, Tristan and Lilly's parents, she chanced a guess.

The queen had the same dark hair and green eyes as her two children and the king had the same kindly twinkle in his blue eyes though his hair was the same shade of blonde as the other young woman. _Must be their sister. _

"How are you feeling?" the queen asked softly.

Her smile made the girl's initial freeze of apprehension thaw a little. It even reminded the girl in her heart of someone close to her, but her mind could not fathom whom. It is a terrible thing for your heart to yearn for something your mind cannot remember.

"Better, I suppose," she answered nervously. She struggled to suppress the instinct to curl in upon herself and hide under her blankets. Why was she so afraid?

"My wife and I are glad you have finally awakened and are up and about. I am King Charmont of Kyrria and my wife is Eleanor. I do not think you have met our eldest daughter, Eleanor; crown princess of Kyrria," the king introduced, gesturing to his wife and the severe looking young woman with the devouring blue eyes.

_Princess_ Eleanor gave a curt nod and appraised the girl with her sharp sapphire gaze. She made the girl feel very uncomfortable with her close scrutinizing. The boy, Tristan, must have noticed because he laid a hand on his sister's arm and whispered something in her ear. The austere princess frowned, but relaxed her gaze upon the girl. Tristan winked at her and she gave him an appreciative smile.

Also there was a lovely dark-skinned woman with intelligent eyes so dark brown they were almost black. Her thick black hair was pulled back by a leather tie and hung down her back like a horse's tail. Her voice was low-pitched and had a musical sound to it that made her feel a bit less wary of these people. If only they weren't so close to her bed or if there weren't so many of them there at once.

"I am Lady Jasmine, Mistress Healer of this infirmary. You gave us quite a scare there, young lady."

"Mother, Father, I think so many people crowding around her is making her nervous. Perhaps she would be more comfortable if we left her for a while," Tristan pointed out while staring pointedly at his elder sister.

The girl bristled at the well-intended comment. Something within her rebelled against this nearly overwhelming trepidation and she was determined to not let it rule over her. But she did have to admit it was very hard not to feel uncomfortable with all these inquiring gazes around her. They would still be asking the questions she couldn't answer and she didn't know if she possessed the strength to go through that again.

"Majesties, if I may? I think Tristan and I should speak with her alone," Lady Jasmine suggested.

The girl sighed silently in relief as the king, queen, and two princesses heeded the healing mistress's advice and left her alone with just the two. Lady Jasmine came forward and felt the girl's forehead before picking up her wrist and feeling her steady pulse.

"Good. No sign of fever and your pulse is strong," the woman commented in approval.

"Don't worry about Ellie. She makes just about every newcomer to our kingdom uncomfortable with that gaze," Tristan assured her, smiling slightly.

"Ellie?" the girl asked in confusion. Who was Ellie?

"It's what we call my elder sister. My mother prefers to be called Ella by all close to her and my sister prefers to be called Ellie," he explained.

"Oh."

"Yes, I think Ellie needs to work on her people skills. Fine head on those shoulders, but she needs to lighten up that tight face. One would think she was far older than nineteen," Lady Jasmine remarked dryly.

After running quick checks over the girl's vitals, Lady Jasmine pulled a chair up close to her bed to talk more intimately with her. Tristan did the same on her other side the girl felt oddly comforted by his presence.

"Tristan tells me you have amnesia; that you can't remember anything. Is that true?" the woman queried.

The girl looked away from the dark, solemn gaze of the healer in shame and nodded her head morosely. "I only have bits and pieces that are so terrifying…I'm not exactly sure I want to remember the rest. I do wish I could remember my name though."

"Yes. Your name. Well, we can't very well keep addressing you as 'my lady' or 'the girl'. Perhaps we shall find a substitute name for you until you regain knowledge of your real name," Lady Jasmine said, scratching her chin in contemplation.

"Who knows? Maybe you'll prefer your new name over your real name when you remember it," Tristan joked, wanting to make the girl smile.

The girl gave a small smile in appreciation of the boy's attempts at lightening up the situation. Truth be told, she was feeling so conflicted inside at the moment that she didn't know what to feel. But she did think it a good idea to use a temporary name until she knew her real one.

"Um, so…a name," Tristan mused.

Without even thinking, the word fell out of the girl's mouth almost mechanically. Though it wasn't her real name, she was sure it wasn't, it still carried a great degree of significance to her. Although why it did she couldn't fathom at the moment. "Rose."

"Pardon?" Tristan asked.

"Call me Rose," she clarified.

Lady Jasmine frowned. "Is that your real name?"

Rose, as she was called now, shook her head and her eyes narrowed, as she seemed to look off far into a great distance. "No, but there's something about that word…it means something important. I just don't know what."

Tristan and Lady Jasmine locked perplexed gazes, but Tristan just shrugged and quirked a smile.

"Rose it is then."


	4. Recuperation

Your pleas have been duly noted and so I will continue this fic. I already have a shady, amorphous layout of the plot in my head. Now I just have to transfer those unshapely thoughts onto paper and let them form as they will.

In this chapter you get a bit more insight into "Rose" and just a teensy hint of the atrocities done to her and her family. Kudos to anyone who can guess who or rather what she is. I don't mean species-wise, she's definitely human. It's actually quite easy to guess, just take a look at the detailed summary and disclaimer in Chapter One and piece it together with the inferences Tristan makes in this chapter. Of course, I cannot tell you if you're correct until "Rose" herself finds out.

I would like to thank my reviewers. Keep them coming lovelies!

**Melissa: **I doubt I'll become a writer when I grow up because I prefer it as just a hobby.

**watrfairie: **Well, actually, yes I do aspire to become a doctor when I grow up. I guess the little bit of knowledge I have comes from reading a lot and watching ER. Oh yeah, I'm a romantic.

**lauren: **Yeah, perpetual bad grammar deters me from reading many fanfiction stories. I mean, I can handle a little bit because I do it and we're not perfect. I have to give lots of credit to my eleventh grade English teacher for making me a better writer.

**Elvensilver: **That really wouldn't work out because my plots have a tendency to change a lot before I write it down and it would just be too complicated. I wouldn't say no to suggestions though.

**ellie mae: **Thanks. Always like to tell it straight, unless it serves my interests to be subtle.

Thanks also to **fairiepixie3** and **Belle Quest** as well for their urging me on. Psst, readers, to get me to update faster, give me lots of reviews. I make no promises though because my workload at school is extremely heavy at the moment.

* * *

Beads of perspiration ran down her forehead, her teeth gritted together in stern determination of keeping her moans of pain inside, the fist on her good arm was clenched tightly, her fingernails digging into the soft flesh of her palm. She kept telling herself that pain was relative, that she ought to be accustomed to it by now after the last few trips. Her pulse was nearly that of a hummingbird's she fancied and her lungs were struggling to bring in air to her seemingly oxygen-starved body.

"Rose, stop. You do not want to over-exert yourself," Tristan cautioned in a concerned tone.

Rose ignored his words and continued to plow forward, balancing herself on her uninjured leg as she tentatively set the one with the stab wound to the thigh down. She could not fight the overwhelming urge inside to keep going, to not stay confined to the infirmary forever however secure she might feel. There was something inside that kept egging her on, telling her she had important things to do. What those things were, she obviously did not know, but she hoped she would learn in time. Of course, she had to walk those few steps from her bed to the end of the infirmary first. Once she conquered that obstacle, maybe things would occur faster.

"Rose," Tristan reiterated in a sharper voice.

"I'm not stopping!" she declared imperiously.

She should have eaten those words, for right after she said them her foot faltered and she teetered backwards into the waiting arms of the prince of Kyrria. Hot tears of anger, indignation, and pain sprang to her eyes and she tried to wrench herself from his tight grasp. Tristan, having the greater strength, did not release his grip.

"Rose, if I have to, I will drag you back to that bed. Your leg is not fully healed yet. It's great that you want to keep it exercised, but learn to know when enough is enough or you'll end up doing yourself more harm than good," he chastised gently.

Rose breathed heavily as the roiling fury at herself, her overbearing babysitter, and her traitorous leg subsided slightly. Everyone had learned early on that Rose had a fearsome and uncannily short temper and was not prone to hiding her feelings very well no matter how much she tried. She was almost the complete polar opposite of the icy cool crown princess. Tristan wrote nightly in his journal of the girl's progress and made the occasional inferences of her personality and what sort of person she must have been before the "accident". What was shaping up was quite fascinating to Tristan and helped he, his family, and his teacher try to pinpoint where she might have come from.

She spoke Kyrrian almost perfectly, but it would appear, for the moment, to be the only language she could remember. Judging from her temper, she seemed to have an impetuous side and she had this tendency to act tremendously imperious. Her authoritative attitude only strengthened their theory of her birth being one into wealth and power. She was well educated, judging by the books she kept requesting so she would not rot in boredom while she recuperated, and she spoke in a refined speech, while occasionally regressing into swearing tirades. All that did not add credibility to Rose being a farmer's daughter, but her nature was not that of a demure noblewoman. 'Twas a good thing Tristan was not acquainted with many demure noblewomen.

What still had Tristan scratching his head was her well-toned physique. Though it had diminished slightly due to weeks of lying motionless in a coma, there was still evidence of one who exercised often and exercised heavily. This was most unusual for a girl of supposed high birth. Women born into prominent families had the luxury of bodyguards and other such forms of security so they did not have to usually forsake their femininity for a sword.

There were, of course, always exceptions to this unwritten societal custom and there were no formal laws barring women from fighting alongside their menfolk. It just was not normally done in Kyrria or neighboring kingdoms. Women of high status, more often than not, chose not to take up the sword because it was not in their nature. They were seen as gentle, refined, nurturing, and peacekeepers; certainly not warriors. Their talents were put to far better use as scholars, advisors, mothers, wives, and healers. Women dominated the Royal Healer's Guild of Kyrria, outnumbering men by more than half. Their intrinsic aptitude for the skill was world-renown, not just in Kyrria.

Girls of underprivileged birth tended to be the ones to take up arms beside the men, especially those that were raised on farms where great physical strength was a must-have for everyone there. Those girls could usually fight just as well, probably even better sometimes in spite of their lesser physical strength, as the next man. Add that to their natural dexterity, they made formidable opponents indeed. They could not rise up into any upper echelons within the army (the higher ranks reserved for those of the upper class), but there were plenty of peasant-girls who served as common foot soldiers. Usually, these girls joined the army because their family had grown too large to accommodate them and they did not fancy becoming maids to help support the family, they followed a relative, friend, or sweetheart, they wanted to join, or they just had nothing better to do.

Tristan was forced to merely support Rose on the trek back to her bed, as she would not deign to be carried. Mandy had been right when she spoke of the girl having a stubborn look about her. It was not just a look; it was an implacable part of her character. For the past two weeks since she had awakened, she had been working tirelessly to gain back strength in her slightly atrophied limbs. Tristan, Jasmine, and even his twin had to repeatedly keep her from working herself to death from exhaustion. It would not take much to force her tenuous recovery spiraling into regression if she kept working at it so tenaciously.

"I don't understand! It was just a bloody thigh wound! Why is it so hard to walk?" she exclaimed as soon as she plopped into the bed.

Tristan handed her a cloth to wipe her sweat-drenched face and poured some water from a golden pitcher into a small cup and handed it to her. He sat down on the chair beside her bed and faced her with a sober expression upon his face.

"It's going to be a long while before you can walk without pain and even longer before you walk without limping," he began hesitantly.

Rose frowned at the dim prognosis. Surely a non-fatal stab wound such like she had suffered would not cause so many problems? Yet, he was the healer, not she and therefore he knew more about it than she did.

"The angle of the blade tore some muscles and ligaments in your thigh and you have had internal scarring because of it. That's what's impeding your movement so much and you're not helping any by overworking it," he finished, carefully gauging her reaction.

Rose was silent for a few moments as she took in the full weight of those words. She seemed more stunned and afraid by those words than angry, which was an immense relief. Her golden-hazel eyes flickered in deep thought and she met Tristan's emerald gaze head on. His eyes held warmth, compassion, and pity. She looked away quickly because she did not particularly care for pity.

"Will I ever walk normally again?" she asked softly.

Tristan slowly nodded his head. He reached out to take her hand but she jerked back, relapsing back into the state of skittishness she had seemingly been cured of. He swallowed awkwardly and proceeded to explain.

"Eventually, if you give it a rest for a while and don't work it so hard. I thought Jasmine had already told you this," he stammered.

Rose cocked her head and scowled at him.

"Well, if I _had_ known, I would have actually listened to you about giving it a rest in the first place. I may be hard-headed, but I'm not a fool," the irate girl snapped.

"The elfish potions we're giving you are stimulating the intricate rebuilding of those muscles and ligaments, but it will take a long time. You'll just have to hang in there," he assured her.

"Elfish potions? Which ones were they?" she asked curiously. She had been bombarded with so many damn potions all a variety of colors, smells, and tastes (most tasting quite horribly).

"Um, the ones that probably tasted the best," he tried.

"Ah."

"So…manage to recover anything of your memory?" he queried hopefully.

Rose ran her hand over her forehead again and then dolefully shook her head. She had been working more on making her body well than her mind, as she became extremely frustrated with her lack of memory. It probably would have helped once she accomplished the first tasks of recuperating and finding some way to get out of here. Yes, having a memory of who you are, where you come from, and how you came to be found in the river half-drowned would definitely need to also be covered were she to get anywhere at all. It was not that she wanted to leave Kyrria because everyone was being so kind to her. If she could have, she would have just cut her losses (memory and all) and stayed here. But she could not ignore the growing urge within her to return to whence she came. It was growing increasingly palpable that it was imperative she regain her memories and return home, wherever that happened to be.

"Oh, well, I'm sure they'll come back," he replied, his voice belying his supreme disappointment.

Unlike the boy, Rose was not exactly looking forward to the moment when/if she regained her memories. Her clipped dreams were terrifying enough; she was hardly willing to be handed the whole cavalcade of events that ended with her floating in the Lucarno practically a hair's breadth from Death's Door. When she awoke from those unfathomable nightmares, she would have tears streaming down her face, her skin would be icy cool, which conflicted with the coating of sweat she would often find herself in. Naturally, she made the intuitive leap of guessing people very dear to her had probably been killed and she was not certain she wanted to face the knowledge to confirm it.

What was most disturbing, however, when she awoke from those night terrors were not the feelings of grief, terror, or shock. It was this thought which she had kept tightly locked away from everyone around her, even Tristan. She could not explain it in words suitable enough to convey the utter desolation she felt when ever she broached the subject of finding her memories and returning home. It was another emotion, different than the others, but tremendously linked, no doubt.

It was the bitter, prickly sensation of _betrayal._


	5. Storyteller

This chapter mainly focuses on the burgeoning friendship between Rose and Lilly and you're introduced to a new character near the end. It also goes a bit in depth into how Rose is feeling about herself and othersand how she is adjusting to her life as it is.  
As for some questions people were asking: Tristan and Lilly are seventeen and will turn eighteen by next spring. Ellie will be twenty at the end of the year. In fact,in the next two or three chapters there will be a celebration for her twentieth.  
As for Rose's request of books: she did not ask for specific books, just books in general to keep herself occupied.  
And, though no one asked this, Kyrrian is the only language she can consciously recall at the moment due to it being the last language she heard before blacking out and the first language she heard upon awakening. Obviously, she would have had to learn the language _prior_ to Tristan's finding her. I could have made it so she did not understand a word they said and vice versa, but I got a tad lazy and it probably would have led to them finding out about her sooner than I wanted.

And no, this story has nothing to do with Sleeping Beauty. Any similarities are purely coincidental.

As for those who are guessing who Rose is and where she comes from…..well, I can't tell you the answer now, can I? But keep guessing, for it is very interesting to see the inferences people make.

Thanks to my reviewers: **KayBee**, **whimsicality**, **Sydney**, **KatieKat19**, **chickensoup**, **Elvensilver**, and **watrfairie.**

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Rose idly poked about her new personal quarters, hobbling about on her dark wooden crutch—she outright refused to refer to it as a _cane_. Despite the fact that the wooden implement greatly facilitated her walking, she would have much rather gone without. Alas, Fussy-Aunt Boy (as she was wont to call Tristan in his absence and in her private thoughts) had all but ordered her to use it so she would not stress her injured leg unduly by putting too much weight on it. As much as she appreciated his efforts to make her well and whole again and, of course, his saving her life, he was liable to drive a lass absolutely off her rocker if given enough time. His twin sister had enthusiastically advocated that point. 

Surreptitiously glancing at the closed doorway, she gingerly lifted the crutch and tossed it on the four-poster. Her leg still gave her painful twinges whenever she walked upon it, but she studiously made herself ignore it as best as she could. She had learned to deal with the pain and it did not hurt nearly as much as it did a month ago. In spite of what Tristan and Jasmine had both imparted to the girl she felt that the quicker she got her leg used to walking full stride again the quicker she could get cracking on doing what she needed to do. Incidentally, she had no idea what it was she had to do. She only knew she had to do it. It gave her a frustrating headache to think on it too much.

Rose ran a thin hand over the vanity table and surveyed her reflection in the mirror. She grimaced at the skinny girl with shadowed hazel eyes and far too prominent cheekbones who stared back out at her. The dress she was wearing literally seemed to hang off of her thin, bony frame. She did not know why the sight of it made her so unhappy, but she just knew that this was not what she was supposed to look like. There was no softness or feminine roundedness to her body like there was supposed to be—virtually bone and skin. It felt wrong, how she looked. She certainly would have to eat more heartily and, to ensure she did not become portly, find a way to get better exercise. She needed to regain her strength as well as her memories. It would probably be best to regain the former before the latter so she could withstand the emotional baggage they were sure to bring with them as interlopers.

Her gown was rather plain, which did not bother her very much for even in its simplicity it retained a subtle bit of radiant splendor. It was a light blue color with a black bodice and long tapering sleeves; the hem of the gown barely brushed over her feet. Her brownish gold hair was pinned back to keep out of her face, as she very much disliked having her hair in her face. Her right arm, though healed from its numerous injuries, was weak and untried; it appeared to be more of a vestigial limb, in her opinion, than a useful one.

Her new personal quarters were actually rather affluent guest quarters in the northwest wing of the palace. She had finally been released from the infirmary prison she had spent the sum of her time previously whilst in Kyrria. Though she had established some friendships and acquaintances with the other patients, healers, and nurses, she found this private bedchamber much more pleasant. It was much quieter in here; quiet enough to let yourself think and lay within your own little world without having to worry about others bothering you all the time. Besides, she was still very hesitant and wary around large groups of people. Rose did not know if that was just a trait of hers or if it was triggered by what had happened to her.

It did not help that she had finally agreed to go to this Winter Festival Kyrria celebrated every winter. It was merely a week away; the preparations were already in full swing and everyone in the kingdom seemed to exude an air of delight and festivity in anticipation of it. She was willing to swallow her petty fears in order to be apart of what was sure to be a grand event.

Someone knocked lightly on her door.

"Rose, are you in there?"

It was fortunate the person knocked because it gave Rose time to limp back to the bed and sit down so as not to be caught violating yet another of the healers' rules. She did not fear Tristan; she only feared how long it would take for him to finish rebuking her.

"Who is it?" It sounded like Lilly, but Rose felt it safer to ask and be certain first.

"It's Lilly. May I come in?" the princess asked politely.

It struck Rose as sort of odd that both Tristan and Lilly were so unerringly polite to subjects and the like. They treated them so like equals that, had she not known any better, Rose would not be able to tell who was the Royal and who was not. The queen acting similarly towards her subjects—Rose supposed Tristan and Lilly followed their mother's example—even going so far as to insist people (even commoners) call her by name (Ella, not Eleanor) on casual occasions (in formal times she kept up the persona of the queen and everyone addressed her as so to the mark). The king was casual to an extent, but Rose had a feeling not many regular subjects called him Char or even Charmont. Nobody who was not family or an _extremely_ close friend ever addressed Ellie as anything other than "Your Highness", sometimes with a "Royal" thrown in there just for good measure. Frankly, Rose did not blame them for their hesitance.

"Come on in," Rose replied.

"I take it you find your new living arrangements acceptable?" Lilly began, entering the room and striding over to sit by Rose on the bed.

Rose shrugged in a thoroughly nonchalant manner.

"I have yet to find a delectable, frisky young manservant in my wardrobe, but it'll do," she quipped with a straight face, though her mouth threatened to curl up into a grin.

Lilly giggled scandalously and lightly smacked her friend on the arm. "Terribly sorry, I'll be sure to get right on that."

"You do that," Rose returned with a wry grin.

"But, in all seriousness, are you happy with them?" Lilly queried curiously.

Rose gave her a reassuring smile and said, "Yes, they're wonderful. Thank you for getting that thick brother of yours to release me from the infirmary."

"Any time, my friend. Tristan can be a bit…" the dark-haired girl trailed off as she searched for a word.

"Too much like a fussy aunt? Hence, the Fussy-Aunt Boy title," Rose suggested casually.

Lilly laughed again and nodded her head emphatically. "That'd be the one."

The princess rose to her feet silently and walked about the room as if to give it her own cursory inspection. Rose could see no reason for this action due to the fact that it had been Lilly and her mother who had pre-approved the chamber prior to it being given to her. Something niggled at the back of Rose's muddled mind that the dark-haired teenager had a more clandestine reason for coming here.

"Would you mind helping me out with something?" Lilly suddenly asked.

"What do you need?" Considering she was the one with brain damage, Rose highly doubted there was very much she would be able to do to help Lilly.

"My sister seems to think I should attend some meeting with High Chancellor Thomas and his grandson Jasper. I need an excuse not to go because the chancellor is the dullest man in the entire kingdom and he and Ellie will only talk about things that bore me to tears. She tried to coax Tristan into coming as well, but he always has his healing work to turn to for an escape."

Rose could barely pick up the words Lilly muttered under her breath, which were comprised of, "Lucky dolt."

High Chancellor Thomas had been Kyrria's High Chancellor since the time of Lilly's grandfather, King Jerrold. The man was well into his late seventies by now and with a host of medical problems plaguing him that steadily worsened his health every day. It was far past the time when many men of his condition would have retired, but the chancellor, as stubborn as he was incredibly dreary, went above and beyond his call of duty. It was a barely conceived relief to finally be able to allow some new blood to take up the task. His grandson, whom he had practically raised himself after the unfortunate deaths of his daughter and son-in-law, was to take his place as the new High Chancellor after the impending resignation.

"So, you need me to what? Hide you under the bed?" Rose ventured in confusion.

"No, but if it comes to that I'm willing to do it. I am at my wit's end with those meetings where time stands still. I honestly believe if I have to endure another one I shall run someone through with a sword simply to disrupt the monotony of it," Lilly attested, somewhat balefully.

Rose chuckled good-naturedly at the princess's words and entertained herself with a vision of it.

"I was actually wondering, if you were up to it, if you wouldn't mind if I gave you a tour around the city and palace grounds. We can see where the festival decorations are being set up and the Royal Menagerie and other places, if you are willing and able."

Rose did not bother giving her an answer. She instantly rose to her feet and started limping to the door. When Lilly did not follow she turned back with her hands resting on her hips.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Let's go."

Lilly frowned. "Aren't you supposed to use your crutch at all times?"

Rose's face fell and she sighed heavily. "Oh, right."

It would have been too much to hope for the princess to overlook that fact.

* * *

Donning thick cloaks and gloves, the two ladies set out into the brisk air of the early winter mid-morning with smiling faces and vigorous jaunts. Well, Rose's limp was as vigorous as she could manage. She was quite delighted to finally get a chance to see the city of Frell. The only other outside-places she had gotten to see since she had been here were the therapeutic gardens outside the infirmary. Blessed by fairies to grow and thrive all throughout the year in cold weather or hot, muggy weather, it was a lovely respite from the dreary atmosphere Rose felt constricting her when she stayed inside the infirmary for too long. 

"My brother will have choice words with me when he finds out about this," Lilly noted as she carefully watched her companion's every step.

"Yes, well, he needs a good stiff drink, if you ask me. Your sister could use one too. More than one actually, she could use a whole keg," Rose muttered.

Lilly snorted at the thought of her stern elder sister ever engaging in any activity that would threaten her sobriety. "Ellie get drunk? That'll happen the day my father lets me join the army."

"I suppose you'll just have to get her drunk then," Rose told her.

"No can do. I find myself particularly fond of life," Lilly returned, chortling.

Lilly led her friend over to a small gray coach, which was empty of a driver. She told Rose to wait there while she went to find one to take them around the city.

"Um, Lilly, why don't we just ride horses? We don't need to bother the man," Rose suggesting, not even stopping to consider that she might not know how to ride a horse.

Lilly, however, did consider it. "Do you know how to ride?"

Rose was quiet for a moment as she thought the question over. Did she? The words had just slipped from her mouth without her noticing them. So, did that mean it was a natural proclivity within her that prompted them?

_Ack. That requires too much thought. Just find yourself a damn horse if you wanna find out if you can ride, stupid_, Rose berated herself silently.

"I don't rightly know if I can," Rose finally answered Lilly.

Lilly seemed to contemplate over this for a while, gazing at the girl thoughtfully. Tristan had related most of his inferences on Rose and they seemed to point to her coming from a prestigious background, perhaps even of noble or royal birth. He was leaning more towards the latter two though she did possess traits that mirrored those of the lower classes. If she was of either three societal classes (upper-middle class merchant elite, noble class, or royal), then chances were she did know how to ride a horse.

"Well, I suppose there's only one way to find out," the princess finally said after about a minute and a half's deliberation.

She took Rose's arm and ambled over to the stables where a young stablehand was currently leading a young black stallion around the pen, speaking to the creature in soft, amiable tones. Lilly called the boy over.

The redheaded youth, who could not have been more than thirteen or fourteen years old, nearly squeaked in surprise to find the youngest child of his king and queen speaking to him. His face reddened as he slowly walked over to where the princess was standing on the other side of the pen.

Nervously, the boy bowed and stammered, "Good morning, Your Highness and—" he looked up to see who else was with her. Seeing that it was not one of the royal family, he addressed Rose, "And my lady."

This must have been a new boy or he was just nervous around authority all the time because most people were very at ease around Lilly. When he stood up straight he gave them a wobbly smile though one could sense that he was brimming with nervousness.

"I was wondering, young sir, if you could procure a placid young horse for my friend here," Lilly said gently, giving the boy a sweet smile to ease his nerves.

The boy relaxed a bit at the princess's easy tone and even smiled a bit. He gestured to the stallion beside him. "Chance here is as gentle as they come, Your Highness. Would my lady like to try him out?"

It took a while before Rose figured out the boy had spoken to her. She nodded and said, "He'll be fine."

"Go on in then," Lilly prodded.

When Rose stepped inside the pen and approached the young stallion, her heart began to race in fear of making a complete fool of herself. What if she fell off? That would be positively horrible! Not only would she make a complete spectacle of herself, she would probably be confined to the dreaded infirmary again and Tristan would chastise her into madness. She calmed down considerably when she ran her hand over the smooth surface of the horse's neck and he whickered softly.

"Good boy," she whispered, her voice slightly tremulous.

Stroking the horse and grasping the reins stimulated a rush of familiarity so intense it nearly made Rose dizzy. She had to hold tightly onto the horse to steady herself in case she did get dizzy. Flashes of memory, hazy and unfocused as they were, appeared before her eyes, but they were gone as quick as they had come. However, it did answer her question about whether or not she knew how to ride a horse. Breathing deeply in wake of the new revelation she smiled. The only problem she would have in trying to get on the horse was her damned leg.

"Um, could you come over here for a moment, please?" she said to the boy.

Lilly was standing on the other side still with her arms folded, watching as Rose and the boy conversed in words too soft for her to pick up. She then nodded in understanding when she saw the boy give Rose a good push to help her onto the horse. Obviously the girl had been confident in her riding ability, but her leg would impede the process of mounting the horse.

Chance pranced nervously around as he felt the weight and pressure of an unfamiliar rider, but with the kind soothing words coming from her mouth he gradually relaxed and allowed her to steer him around the pen expertly. After a few tentative practice rounds, Rose had the stallion trot over to the boy.

Beaming in triumph, she said, "He's a sweet horse. Mind if I borrow him for the day?"

"Oh no, go ahead, my lady. He seems to take to you pretty well."

She heard Lilly clapping by the edge of the pen. The dark-haired princess was smiling as she walked into the pen and presented the boy with a gold coin.

"For your trouble," she said.

The boy's eyes widened and he hastily shoved the coin into the pocket of his tunic and bowed respectfully.

"Thank you, Your Highness. But it was no trouble at all. Do you want me to fetch your horse for you?"

Lilly waved the offer away. "No, I'll fetch her myself. Thank you for your assistance."

She turned her attention to the enigmatic girl upon the horse. This child—young woman really—had become such a mystery to them all and yet Lilly found herself learning more about her everyday. She carried herself upright and proudly (the limp notwithstanding) and she rode a horse like she had been doing it her entire life…much like Lilly and her siblings. Rose probably _had_ ridden horses her entire life if her brother's conjectures were correct.

Rose wrinkled her brow at Lilly's strange look. "What?"

Lilly just shook her head and said, "You're just full of surprises."

* * *

Though they visited many sites in Frell, which sparkled merrily in the early winter sunlight, the highlight of the tour was Lilly's animated talking. She regaled the girl of unknown origin and nationality with tales of her kingdom and, with a hint of pride, of her mother and father. It was just as well Lilly had so many stories to tell because Rose had none of interest to impart just yet. All she would have would be the happenings of the past month or so (she was terrible at keeping track of time) she had been in Frell. Most of what had happened the princess already knew so Rose was content to let Lilly do all the storytelling. 

"Now, do you understand what an obedience curse entails?" Lilly asked, quite somberly.

Rose pursed her lips, wondering if this was supposed to be a trick question. "Um…you have to do everything you're told, no matter what?"

"Exactly. Even if someone tells you to plunge a dagger into your breast you would have to do it," Lilly said candidly in a voice dripping with dramatic effect.

The technique worked on Rose quite well as her face had gone from being curiously confused to blatant horror at the very thought of it. "Are you serious?"

Lilly nodded very solemnly, suppressing a shudder at the thought of what her mother had dealt with for the first sixteen years of her life. She could not imagine having to live in that constant prison of obedience and fear of what someone might command of her. This tale had, of course, made her mother quite famous and an object of admiration throughout the kingdom and beyond the borders. She became immortalized as a pillar of strength and determination against nearly insurmountable odds and had proved herself to be a woman of great valor as well. The love of her husband and kingdom had been enough for her to conquer the curse and cleave its hold upon her. Lilly could only wish she would turn out half so strong as her mother.

"Your mother actually had to live like that?" Rose asked, half in wonder and half in horror.

Lilly gave her an affirmative nod. "For sixteen years. 'Twas only in the last couple of years, when my grandmother died, that things began to change for her. My grandfather, Sir Peter, had lost all his money and married a wretched woman called Dame Olga. Possibly even more wretched than her, if only due to the fact that there were two of them, were her daughters, Hattie and Olive."

"What was so wretched about them?" Rose inquired.

"Oh, just about everything. They are vain, fickle, stupid, vindictive, gaudy…shall I go on?"

Though her mother had long since forgiven (but never forgotten) how her step-family had treated her, Lilly and her siblings, on their mother's behalf, found they could not find the same forgiveness in their hearts. They bitterly resented the way their mother had been so unfairly treated and they also resented the way their step-grandmother and step-aunts flaunted their connections to their royal selves as if they were on good terms. They rarely, if ever, spoke to one another and Ella along with her three children were liable to avoid any such occasion as much as possible.

Their grandfather, the sly trader, was not exactly adored, but he was seen in a far more appealing light by his grandchildren and son-in-law. Char was not the most forgiving of men, most especially in cases concerning his wife and/or children. He never forgave Dame Olga or her daughters for the way they defamed his beloved wife, exploited her curse (although they did not know it was a curse that made Ella so obedient at the time), and forced her into servitude for no explicable reason.

They could have cut off all ties with the damnable woman and her spawn if only Lucinda had not seemed to have some kind of an affinity for cursing their family. When Sir Peter wed Dame Olga, the union was initially meant (for Sir Peter anyway) for monetary gain only due to Sir Peter's foolish trading mistake of selling an estate he did not own to some gnomes who eventually found out. Lilly's grandfather was reduced to selling everything he owned including his manor, his furniture, and, in a way, his daughter by an opportune marriage. Ella's prospective marriage to some old earl did not work out so Sir Peter sold himself, in a manner of speaking, to Dame Olga. A horrid decision, Lilly often thought. She would have gladly starved on the streets if the only option left to her had been to marry some doddering fool she despised.

Lucinda, however, decided to make an appearance and bestow a "blessing" of sorts on the union. One might think it was a gift at first. After all, how horrific can the gift of eternal love sound at first? Well, it can be quite horrific when the two people did not love each other in the first place or, in this case, when one person did not love the other. Love is not an emotion to be trifled with or dictated, as Lilly's parents had decreed that very same day. Her parents' love for each other had certainly not been foreseen nor dictated in any way shape or form. Although her father would vow he had been in love with her mother since the day of Ella's mother's funeral where the two officially met. Love was born on a day fraught with the sadness of death. How poetic, Ellie was wont to sarcastically intone. Lilly thought it quite romantic and sweet herself. She had no idea how Tristan viewed it and never thought to ask. Contrary to what some people believed, they could not read each other like open books normally.

Therefore, since her grandfather and step-grandmother were doomed to loving one another for all eternity despite Sir Peter's willingness to be rid of his love, she and her family were invariably stuck with the harpy and her spawn as relatives. She could only rejoice in the one fact of her not being related by blood because it was enough to make one wish to be barren.

All this she told to Rose, who was engrossed in the outlandish, but true, tale.

"This Lucinda chit seems to cause a lot of trouble. She didn't curse you or your sister or brother, did she?" Rose asked, gasping at the notion.

Lilly shook her head. "No. Thank the stars. She gave up cursing when…um…when somebody forced her to taste her own medicine. She spent three months as a squirrel and three months as an obedient human child. Long story short, she finally saw how much damage she was doing and is now living clean."

Having such a runaway mouth, the young princess had almost given away that it had been Mandy, the godmother of herself, her siblings, and her mother, who had ordered Lucinda to impose such things upon herself. Despite Rose being relatively harmless, Lilly did not know or trust the girl enough to ever tell her the truth about their star cook. Even her father did not know what Mandy truly was and that was how it would stay unless Mandy directed otherwise.

Rose seemed less interested in whomever stopped Lucinda's well-intentioned destruction and more interested in the squirrel bit. "Ah, I get obedient child, but a squirrel?"

"Oh, well, one of Lucinda's favorite 'gifts' was to turn a person into a squirrel because, apparently, they led such charming lives or some such nonsense as that," Lilly returned nonchalantly.

Rose pondered over this for a while before smiling and saying, "Lucky for you your mother didn't get that 'gift'."

Lucky indeed.

"I do hope I never come across a fairy," Rose mumbled more to herself than to her companion.

Lilly, while waving at some people who had called out to her, responded, "Oh, you normally would not know if someone was a fairy if you saw them anyway. Fairies tend to keep their identities incognito and it's supposedly some unwritten law to never let a human know you're a fairy. After all, they're immortal and they can do magic so they would expect fairies to solve all problems for them and make them immortal. Moreover, most fairies shy away from using big magic because they are so tetchy about upsetting the delicate balance of nature. They only do, at most, simple harmless magic that won't have any effect in the long run. So, Lucinda was a rarity among her kind, which we can all be thankful for."

Rose's eyes narrowed in suspicion and she asked Lilly, "If fairies are so damn secretive why do you know so much about them and their rules?"

_Oh shit, Lilly. You really must watch what you say. The lass is not a fool._ However, Lilly was saved from having to attempt a semi-satisfying explanation by a tall boy with shoulder-length blonde hair, and twinkling brown eyes, who came over upon his own horse to join the duo.

"What are two fine ladies such as yourselves doing without a male escort to protect you?" he teased, pulling his own mount up next to Lilly's mare. It was her cousin Radon, the eldest of her aunt Cecilia's children. He was wearing the attire of a traveler with a light, but protective leather jerkin over top of a gray, long-sleeved tunic, a black cloak, and brown trousers with tall leather boots.

Radon knew as well as anyone else that it was preposterous to go about the city with bodyguards flanking you at all times mostly due to the fact that it might offend people into thinking their royal family did not trust them. Only during times of warfare were the royals supposed to be guarded at all times. Besides, it was a massive drain on privacy to carry around armor-plated men all the time and it tended to make people uneasy. Plenty of soldiers patrolled Frell just to maintain peace and order and were sufficient enough for protection.

"Radon, what a surprise! Your mother's last letters bade us to believe you were not to arrive until tomorrow evening," Lilly greeted her favorite cousin in surprised delight.

"Mother and Father will arrive tomorrow evening, but I headed out early. I wanted to get here earlier to meet Tristan's catch from the Lucarno," Radon explained, not noticing the "catch" he spoke of was on the other side of his cousin. He had assumed she was just a friend of Lilly's he could not remember for Lilly hadlegions offriends.

Rose could not decide whether she ought to be offended or indifferent of the way she was described by her hosts' cousin. The manner in which he spoke it did not call for offense, so she allowed herself to relax and study the boy keenly. He was extremely handsome with a smile and a pair of eyes that bespoke of harmless mischief. He held the reins to his horse in one hand while the other rested on his leg, showing the boy had much skill with their equestrian friends. His hair, while not outright curly, fell over his shoulders in subtle waves and was a few shades lighter than either the king's or the crown princess's. He was probably around the same age or slightly older than Tristan and Lilly, but no more older than Ellie. She definitely could not like someone immediately, but this fellow had potential given enough time.

"Might I inquire as to your name, my lady? I'm sorry if I can't recall you or your name. Lilly has many friends," Radon addressed Rose, quirking his eyebrow intriguingly. Radon was always happy to acquaint himself with a new lady-friend.

It was such a simple question, but it was such a complicated one at the same time. Rose's eyes turned away from the blonde prince and she fidgeted uneasily in her saddle. She never liked introducing herself to anyone because it made her feel like she was lying somehow or giving an inadequate answer.

Sensing her friend's discomfort, Lilly stepped in for the rescue.

"We call her Rose, but as of right now we don't know her given name." Her green eyes centered on her cousin meaningfully before turning back to Rose with sympathy.

Radon's brown eyes widened in realization and his tanned skin reddened in embarrassment.

"So, you're Rose! I'm terribly sorry I did not notice before," he apologized, guiding his steed over to reside by Rose's own borrowed one. "I'm glad to see your recovery is going well. My cousin must be a better healer than I gave him credit for."

Rose snorted and commented dryly, "Maybe, but he sure is becoming quite irritating."

Radon laughed loudly at the remark and nodded his head in vigorous agreement. He scrutinized her much the same way Rose had earlier studied him, but with a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Though his smile was certainly attractive, as was much of the rest of him, she did not like the way his eyes roved over her. One might mistake his intense gazing as lascivious, but then one would learn this was just the way Radon learned about people. His traits made him a particularly good strategist and an excellent judge of situations and people.

"Must be difficult to have not a clue about where you come from, what happened to you, or your name," Radon finally remarked in a candid, but considerate, tone.

Rose did not answer, but merely nodded her head as if to say aloud, _You have no idea. None at all._

Lilly rolled her eyes at aunt's son for forgetting to introduce himself properly. It seemed she would have to be the ice-breaker, as always, in the group.

"Forgive my oaf of a cousin, Rose, for forgetting his manners," here she lifted an eyebrow at the direction of the young man, "as usual." She continued in a prim voice, "This is Prince Firadon, son of Princess Cecilia and Baron Frenwick of Bast. Cecilia is my father's younger sister, and, incidentally, his only sister. Radon is her eldest and they live in Bast, which is just outside the elves' forest in Kyrria."

A lopsided grin on his face, Radon swept a particularly elegant bow for one who was currently riding atop a horse. He reached for Rose's hand before she could react and bestowed a polite and gossamer kiss on the pale skin. She snatched her hand back and looked away from him as she felt the rise of buried emotions spark alight at his well-intentioned action.

Radon instantly became contrite at his actions, as common as they normally were. "Oh, I'm sorry. It's a custom in our kingdom to do that."

Rose barely heard him over the din of her own inner chiding voice scolding her on how ridiculous she was being. She did not like the fact that human touch, even one so innocent as a young man kissing her hand as was custom, could make her recoil. She had not recoiled so when she had been touched by the healers or helped onto the horse by the boy. And she had been stripped naked sometimes when the female healers examined her! Why did that not seem to bother her as much as a boy kissing her on the hand?

Radon glanced at his cousin quizzically as Rose continued her inner argument. Lilly responded to Radon's puzzled glances by swiping her hand across her neck to indicate that he should just keep quiet and keep his hands to himself, or so he guessed.

"Are you all right, my lady?" he finally asked, not being able to stand her silence any longer.

Rose nodded her head. "I'm sorry, it's just…it's…complicated. I honestly don't know why I reacted like that. I suppose I'm just not quite used to it. I believe you're the first boy who's done that." Her reassuring smile lacked confidence in her assertion, which both Radon and Lilly picked up on. Both did not comment on it either, but they looked at each other behind Rose's back.

"Um, well, have you seen anyone else from the family?" Lilly suddenly blurted, eager to be rid of this awkward silence. She was not fond of silence as it was, but when awkwardness was added to it she was apt to find any way to end it.

"Considering I've merely arrived not more than ten minutes ago, you would be the first. Is Tristan cooped up in the infirmary on a day like this? I expected him to be out and about watching over the festival preparations," Radon remarked.

Lilly smiled sheepishly and said, "He would be if he had not been forced to use the infirmary as an excuse not to attend one of those meetings with Ellie and High Chancellor Thomas. Rose here has kindly agreed to be my excuse." She nodded her head in Rose's direction while smiling appreciatively.

Radon scratched his chin, which bore the evidence of not shaving for a couple of days, thoughtfully. A smirk emerged from his pensive expression and he inquired of Lilly in a conspiratorial voice, "So, Ellie and Jasper are alone together?"

Lilly furrowed her brow and reminded him, "No, Chancellor Thomas is there as well."

Radon waved the fact away. "Oh, that man's so old he falls asleep at the sound of his own voice within five minutes. Jasper has taken over most of his grandfather's duties, right?"

"Well, yes," Lilly said uncertainly, not particularly sure she liked where her cousin's mind was heading.

Rose, who was observing this exchange with a combination of intrigue and confusion, (and trying not to feel like she was eavesdropping), had no clue what it was Radon was alluding to. Lilly did for it had been an ongoing wager of her cousins (not just Radon) that Ellie and Jasper possessed deep, abiding affections for one another and hid it underneath their tough, though distinct, exteriors. That was her female cousins' version of it; the boys believed it was sexual tension that would do them in first and each had a pool going on how long it would take for Jasper and Ellie to fling their petty moral inhibitions aside and give into temptation.

"Splendid," Radon said, still wearing his devious smirk. He clapped his hands together in anticipation.

"I apologize for my hasty exit, but I have a wager to see come through, if luck is smiling upon me. The time-frame I bet on is about to close," he told the two girls. Giving full attention to Rose he smiled and bowed his head, "My lady Rose, 'twas an honor to meet you. I hope I shall see you tomorrow evening at the start of the festival."

"Perhaps," was all Rose could think of to say. She was still extremely baffled over what had passed between Lilly and Radon and still harbored serious reservations about attending the festival. She watched Radon flick his reins and steer his horse back towards the palace to whatever possible winning wager resided there.

Lilly rolled her eyes and sighed at the ridiculousness of boys and their one-track minds. Even her brother often made such uncouth comments whenever he was in the company of his friends and male cousins. Usually he polished his language whenever a lady was present, but, apparently, his twin sister did not fall under that category in regards to him. She did not mind such talk in moderation and in appropriate times, but her cousin had been seriously out of line speaking of such coarse occurrences in front of Rose.

"Lilly, what just happened?" Rose finally asked, after trying in vain to understand on her own.

Lilly just huffed and shook her head while muttering, "Boys."

Indubitably, it was an astute observation and a perfect way to sum up the ridiculousness of the coarser sex (Though Rose could make a list of the many things she found ridiculous about the fairer sex as well.). Unfortunately, the succinct response did not answer her initial question. However, Lilly had resumed her previous duty of presenting her fair kingdom to her guest and Rose, more out of respect for Lilly than for any sort of politeness, let the issue go for now. She stored it away in the back of her mind to lie alongside the fairy issue for another subject to approach at a more opportune moment.

* * *

Next Chapter: Areida and Cecilia come to Frell and an attraction develops between Radon and Rose. If you're really good, I might have Dame Olga and her spawn make some unwelcome appearances. 


	6. Dreams within the Dream

I haven't given up on this story. I've just been temporarily grounded by many things: lack of time, lack of inspiration, etc…However, some spurts of ideas have finally been released by my muse and I have two brand-new chapters to bestow upon thee. These are not quite what I promised in my author's notes of last chapter, but that's what happens when you write as the ideas come to you.

This chapter centers mainly on Rose, but has a bit of Radon in it. The next chapter is almost completely Ellie-centric. She needed a little bit of time in the spotlight, I decided.

Both chapters are relatively short for me. But they just didn't flow well when combined into one. Therefore, I split them into two and it just looks better.

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The girl watched the boy splash in the seawater as it roiled over the shoreline of the rocky beach and receded in slow succession. The salty sea breeze whipped her amber-brown hair around her face and ruffled the dark curls of the child she watched over. His small green trousers were pulled up halfway past his shins so they would not get wet and his feet were bare. He was a small child, only about three or four years old at the most. His hair was a mass of thick spiraling curls that were the color of pure ebony and bounced about as the boy played. He was so beautiful; the girl's heart would melt in bittersweet nostalgia every time she looked upon him.

The child turned toward her and came running with his arms outstretched. The girl, wearing rolled up trousers herself, caught him up in her arms and swung him around, high above her head. Her well-muscled arms could easily have tossed him a good distance into the water had she wanted to.

"I want to swim!" the boy pleaded. His eyes were a dark shade of golden-hazel, like her eyes.

"Sorry, love," she replied, swinging him onto her hip, "it's too cold to swim. When summer comes next year, I'll take you swimming in the river. I promise."

The youngster pouted and wriggled out of her arms to wade around in the salty water. The girl edged out of the water and farther up the beach to watch from a drier vantage point. The setting sun's reflection turned the blue of the ocean waters into a brilliant expanse of gold, green, and blue all swirling together in an enormous pallet. She turned to glance behind her at the rocky cliff wall rising hundreds of feet upwards. The cliff converged at a narrow point, which jutted out noticeably, almost as if were about to break away and crash to the ground.

The hair on her arms and on the back of her neck stood up on end. A nauseous fear clutched at her heart and made her swallow the thick spout of bile that suddenly rose into her throat. She had no inkling of why she had gone from being happily content to deathly afraid in the space of seconds, but she instantly snapped to her feet. She tried to spot the child so she could take him away from this unseen danger. What she saw, or, rather, what she _did not_ see, caused her entire body to go rigid with fright.

The boy had disappeared.

Her breath caught in her throat as an icy numbness spread over her body. When she recovered her airway, it occurred to her that she should call out for the child. The iciness of the sensations assaulting her person was doubled in intensity when she realized she did not know the child's name. She knew it once, but now it was lost; it was embedded deep within her mind to where she could not reach. The name had literally been on the tip of her tongue, but had dissipated the moment she had been about to say it.

_No. Please. I must remember. I must find him!_

She started walking towards the water, but soon broke out into a full-speed run, thinking he had perhaps gone swimming. Although it was a terrifying notion to think that he might be drowning, she could probably reach him in time. The turbulent ocean water was far colder than it had been a few minutes before when all she had been doing was wading in it. The frigid liquid stung her skin most painfully, but she continued to tread farther out in crazed desperation. Tears were falling freely from her eyes, but she did not notice. She had progressed so far out that soon she had to actually swim to keep afloat.

Her frantic, roving eyes caught sight of something shiny floating in the water not far from her. She quickly swam towards it, the freezing salty water slapping her ruthlessly in the face. If she kept her limbs moving, perhaps she could stall the hypothermia that was beginning to take over her body.

_Keep moving. Don't stop moving. Don't stop. It hurts so much. It's so cold._

The shiny object was actually a necklace, a golden chain with a small diamond-shaped charm. She reached out to grab it, but before her fingers could even make contact she was pulled underneath the water. She struggled wildly, kicking her legs as hard as she could and waving her arms around. Even so, she continued to sink deeper and deeper beneath the surface as her oxygen level decreased drastically. Water filled her mouth and flew up into her nostrils. Still, she continued fighting, kicking, and waving her arms around. She could not give into the death that beckoned her. She was needed.

"Rose!"

Someone had hold of her. Panic seized her and she fought even harder to break free of her assailant. She managed to wrestle her left arm free and raised it to thrust the heel of her palm right into her attacker's nose. It was an instinctive maneuver, but a well-known self-defense tactic.

"Rose, stop! Ow!"

Suddenly the arms holding her arms were pulled back and Rose, still half ensconced in her nightmares, toppled out of her bed. She crab-scrabbled across the carpet and pulled herself up against the desk. She was gasping for breath as if she had been deprived of it all her life; her chest was rising and falling at a rapid pace and her heart beat furiously. When her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the bedchamber her befuddled mind began to clear. The nightmarish haze lifted from her eyes and she saw, very clearly, that she was not at a beach and she was not, in fact, drowning. It had been naught but a dream. Relief caused her legs to sag and she gripped the desk for support.

"I think you might've broken my nose! Damn, that's quite an arm you've got! Where'd you learn how to throw a swing like that?" came the bemused voice of the one who had been trying to shake her awake.

The voice sounded familiar, but she was still a little groggy from just waking up entirely that she could not quite figure out whose it was. She hazarded a guess.

"Tristan?"

"Not quite, but I'm sure I'll need him to fix this. It's me." The stranger stood up, his tall body silhouetted against her four-poster. He stepped forward into the moonlight shining in through the window (she had forgotten to shut the curtains). She frowned in perplexity when she saw that it was Radon.

"Radon? What are you doing in my bedchamber? In the middle of the night, for that matter?" she questioned, bound and determined to keep her voice steady. She suddenly felt tremendously exposed in the thin silk nightgown, which was pure white in color. It was thin in material and the only thing between the outside world and her sensitive, pale, _naked_ skin. Having a male in the room when she was so close to being bare was making her face grow very hot and red. She detested blushing, especially when it was she who was doing it.

"Oh, certainly, do not think of apologizing for hitting me," he returned. His voice had the odd, amusing tone of one who is either holding his nose or is suffering from a severe cold.

His words evoked a strong reaction from her. She bristled with indignation and intense annoyance at the boy's impertinence. How dare he speak to her like that? As soon as she thought of it, she became contrite with herself. What right had she to think such things or even speak them? He was a prince and kin to the monarchs of the kingdom where she was naught but a nameless guest who knew next to nothing about her past. Be that is it may, it was very improper to barge into a lady's room while she was so scantily clad. And it was also rather embarrassing.

She bowed her head and apologized in a remorseful tone. "Forgive me, Your Highness. You startled me, is all."

"Gee, Rose, you don't know sarcasm when you hear it?" he teased her, smiling that irritatingly sexy smirk of his. "Besides, I don't think you broke my nose. Came damn close though. I'm actually impressed."

Rose did not dwell on the fact that he was impressed with her hitting skills or that she had not broken his nose. He was being sarcastic? The bastard! Here she was getting all worked up and worried that she had truly offended him and/or hurt him when he had just been playing with her. She did not particularly enjoy being played with. She promptly decided the sprouts of friendly feelings toward him were to be destroyed immediately.

Radon almost laughed at the expression on her face, but then he remembered Tristan's words in the letter describing Rose's "fearsome, mercurial temper". If one put that together with the fact that she could throw a punch rather well for a girl of her size, then he would learn quickly that this was a girl one did not want to anger unduly. It was those thoughts that forced him, rather reluctantly, to tear his gaze away from her enticing form. Her pale skin was bathed in the silver moonlight and the scars she wore as testament to the past that had slipped from memory--but not from reality—glowed even more brightly than the regular, unblemished skin.

Radon could not fathom the reason, but he found Rose to be so mysteriously lovely when, in retrospect, there were legions of young women whose beauty eclipsed hers. She was rather lean for his particular tastes—he always did prefer the buxom, curvaceous women, not stick figures. Yet, he figured, with time and Mandy's superb cooking she would fill out nicely. No, it was not her physical appearance that completely enthralled him in the short amount of time he had known her. Though her physical appearance did have serious potential, he was not denying that. And she certainly looked far more tempting in the white silk nightgown clinging to her skin than in a blue gown.

Perhaps it was the allure of her mysterious past and the bizarre circumstances surrounding her discovery and arrival to Kyrria that attracted him so. Those enigmatic gold-green eyes were so evocative of fear, uncertainty, vulnerability, and the more subtle gleams of determination and strength. Her eyes were like magnets drawing him in ever closer to the point of no return. He would very much like to learn the secrets those eyes hid from the world and herself. Yet, like Rose, he was also afraid of what he might learn.

"What do you want?" Rose inquired, hugging herself. Her fury from before was abating, which was a relief since getting very angry quickly was always a drain on energy.

Radon shuffled his feet as he searched for a satisfying explanation so as not to incur her wrath again. The prince was a long-time sufferer of insomnia and woke up often during the night. Instead of lying in his bed trying to get back to sleep after imbibing sleeping potions, he dressed and walked the winding corridors of whatever place he happened to be staying in. It was a habit everyone in his family had become quite accustomed to.

It was by simple coincidence that he had been walking by Rose's private quarters when he had heard the alarming noises from within. He had never actually heard someone struggling in the throes of a nightmare, but he had assumed rightly that it was what was occurring in the bedchamber. He burst into the room to find the girl thrashing about wildly on her bed, screaming and moaning in terror. Tears had been streaming down her face and she kept spouting out incomprehensible words.

He had remained, stunned and motionless, in the doorway for a moment, fearful of approaching the struggling girl. His concern for her eventually won out and he quickly tried to shake her awake to release her from her nightmare. He had certainly not expected her to fight him so viciously. For someone who did not look it, she was quite strong. Though he did not want to admit it to her, he was just as shaken, perhaps even more so, as she was after seeing that.

Rose felt her ire weaken when Radon apologetically explained how he came to be here. She supposed his reasons were justified and was even somewhat grateful he had been there to waken her from her nightmare. Still, she was practically naked here and he was quite the handsome fellow. Perhaps he would like to—she gasped aloud and clapped her hand over her mouth at the sheer audacity of her own thoughts. Really, she had not intended for her thoughts to go _that_ direction and was plainly horrified. It was a damn good thing she had not said those aloud.

Radon was quite confused. "What's wrong?"

She reddened and paced across the room to the bed. How could she look him in the eye now?

"Nothing."

Silence. Radon just shook with silent laughter. It was obvious she was embarrassed about something.

"You're full of shit, you know that?" Radon said, amused by her behavior.

"Look, it's late and I'm very tired. I've had the nightmare from hell and I would just like to go back to sleep. Though that probably doesn't make sense, since I could dream it again, but I'm willing to risk it," she snapped, not amused by his behavior.

Radon looked disappointed at her subtle request for him to leave. He had wanted to hear what her nightmare was about and perhaps gain some insight into who she really was. He pursed his lips and sat down on the bed beside her feet.

"I was hoping you'd want to talk about your nightmare. Maybe it'll help to talk about it," he suggested softly.

Rose scowled at the prince sitting on her bed. Did he not understand when a lass wanted to be alone? A little voice inside whispered to her of the questionable wisdom of unleashing her thoughts and fears, especially on a prat like this one here. However, maybe if she told someone about it she could make more sense of it. Just bringing up the sight of the boy-child from her dreams awakened a deep aching in her soul. She had no doubt that her dream was a vision, twisted or clear, of her past. She needed to hear herself speaking about it out loud to sort through it all. She needed to know, though Radon could not give her the answer, who the boy was.

"I…I was at a beach, but I wasn't swimming. There was a little boy running around, just wading through the foamy surf. He had black, curly hair, but his eyes…his eyes were like mine. I was just sitting on the beach, watching him and I turned around for just a second…"

Radon listened raptly and his keen brown eyes were rife with compassion as she relived the dream that had transgressed into nightmare territory very rapidly. He resisted the urge to grasp her hand and squeeze it in support lest she take it for a less honorable intention. He did not want to cause her any more stress than what she had already suffered. He watched the tears well up in her golden hazel eyes—such a lovely color, he mused—when she recalled how she could not remember the boy's name. He could sense the extreme sorrow pervading her being at not being able to remember the name of someone who was obviously very important to her.

"It was so awful. I don't even think there was anyone pulling me under the water; I was just sinking, and I was drowning. I thought I was going to die," she recounted, her voice full of the remembered terror.

Radon sighed in sympathy and laid a hand on her shoulder. He wanted to do something, anything, to relieve the anguish she must have been experiencing. But this sort of thing was not his area of expertise and he found himself at a loss. He did not know what he could say that would make her feel better. He was afraid of saying something that would sound tasteless and inappropriate (which he often made the mistake of doing).

After sitting there for a few minutes in silence, Radon let his curiosity do the talking.

"How old was the boy?" he inquired.

Rose sniffled and wiped an errant tear from her eye and thought over the question. She brought the image of the boy up in her mind, as crystal clear as the sky in her dream, and made an estimate.

"He was quite young. Only about three or four years old, I would say." She gazed at Radon, watching his face scrunch up as he thought this over. She wondered what he was thinking about.

"You said his eyes were the same as yours. I'm guessing he was related to you. Perhaps a brother," he said to her. The odd tone of voice in which he said those words made Rose shiver disagreeably for some unfathomable reason.

"Perhaps," she replied.

"It would certainly explain the eyes and how much love I felt for him. But there was something else I felt when I looked upon him," she murmured thoughtfully.

"What was that?" Radon asked.

She closed her eyes and brought her hand up to her breast, right over her heart. "I felt saddened. It's like when you look upon someone you love, but they remind you of someone else and it makes you really sad."

Radon said nothing in response to this, but continued to study Rose, his chocolate eyes moving up and down her form. As when she had first met him, his gaze was not lascivious or suggestive, he was merely studying her in an objective sort of way. He scratched his chin, dotted with blonde stubbles, and continued scrutinizing her.

Finally, Rose became antsy with curiosity and asked, "What?"

Radon looked supremely uncomfortable and hesitant, but he decided to tell her his deductions about the child from her dreams. "Well, I'd say you're around Tristan and Lilly's age of seventeen. You might even be a bit older, but I doubt it. If the child is as young as you say he looked…" he trailed off there, losing his fine command of words. He was afraid he would offend the girl if he told her what he had been thinking.

"What do you mean?" Rose asked; her brow furrowed in confusion.

Radon waved his hands around and gestured to her stomach awkwardly. Normally, subjects like these came to him with such ease—much to his mother's displeasure—but he found it extremely difficult to speak of it with Rose when it actually involved the girl herself. She cocked an eyebrow at his weird behavior and looked down at her stomach, her hands unconsciously grasping it. When he pantomimed rocking a baby in his arms, she gasped when the veil of confusion lifted and his meaning was made glaringly clear.

"You think," she sputtered, flushing bright red with mortification, "that he was my child! I would have had to been thirteen or fourteen!"

Radon shrugged helplessly and subtly shuffled farther away from her, not wishing for her to give him another blow to his nose and achieving breakage. He need not have worried because Rose was far too flustered at the moment to give any thought of inflicting violence. She would have dismissed the possibility as utterly ridiculous immediately, had not some little voice been tickling the back of her brain. It kept whispering to her of how she had felt when she had looked at the child. The affection she had felt was more akin to that between a mother and her son, not a sister and her younger brother.

"It's happened before. I've heard of girls even younger than that giving birth. And, you have to admit, when filled out, I'm sure you had fine child-bearing hips." Once he said those last words, he instantly regretted it. He put his hands up to protect his face at the attack he predicted was coming.

He predicted wrongly, as Rose was too swamped by her own thoughts at the moment to really notice him. She was twisting her hands around absently as she struggled to recall every detail about the boy and try to fit him to someone he reminded her of.

_Goddamned amnesia! _

She then shook her head and looked back to Radon. "If I had borne a child, I'm sure Jasmine or any of the other women that examined me would have noticed and told me about it. Bearing a child that young, it has to show some sort of sign. Tearing and stretch marks and the like."

Radon grimaced at the consequences of young motherhood and childbearing in general. Being of the half of the human species that could not bring forth life—well, not bring it forth directly—he simply could not understand how women could go through all of that. It certainly was one of the many aspects that gifted him with a deep and abiding respect for the fairer sex. Men certainly went through their fair share of wounds, pains, and injuries in battles and accidents and the like. Women, on a smaller scale, suffered those as well. But one did not see many a man wishing for such a calamity to be visited upon him. And yet, almost every girl he knew could not wait to become mothers in spite of the extreme difficulty and pain that came with carrying and bearing children. Women he knew who had borne children, his aunts and his mother mostly, often told him the pain was worth it. They forgot the agony of bringing their children forth when they held their newborn in their arms.

His Aunt Ella had even borne twins! It was difficult enough carrying one baby, but to carry two at the same time amounted to sheer impossibility in Radon's mind.

"Well, I think it would be worth a try to ask," Radon suggested casually.

Rose wordlessly shook her head, too lost in her thoughts to respond verbally. She had her hands folded in her lap, though she kept unfolding them and folding them all over again absently. Her thoughts were completely filled with the shady memories of her nightmare and the few images she had of her past. She gasped when she realized she remembered something from her ordeal—something significant in regards to the child from her dream. The emotions she could recall amounted to fear, pain, shock, outrage, and anguish while the thick, rancid odors of smoke, fire, and blood assaulted her other sense. She distinctly remembered screaming—both of the female and male variety. She brought up every horrific broken scene, every shattered piece to try and string together, but they did not flow easily. There were far too many gaps between those shards to make a full picture out of. But there was one thing she did recall and the memory of it caused buried horror and grief to grip her heart.

She remembered the sensation of a hand, a small child-like hand, slipping from her own hand. No, she did not remember the sensation per se. It was the emotions she could recall that conjured up the sensation; she could recall the event itself and thereby resurrect the feeling. She lifted up her right hand and tears welled in her eyes—it had been from this hand that the child's hand had been wrenched away. The boy from her dream—he must have been that child! Her hand began to shake as irrepressible anger and anguish overwhelmed her; tears again drenched her already dampened cheeks.

Radon was astonished by her sudden change of mood. She had gone from being indignant and flustered to shaking with sobs of furious grief. He watched with concerned eyes as she brought her trembling right hand to her chest, squeezed her eyes shut and lay back on her bed. A keening wail, though muffled by the pillows, met his ears and he felt his heart crack with sympathy.

"Rose? What is it?" His hand hovered over her form, as if unsure of whether he should touch her or not.

"Please, Radon, just go," she replied in a broken voice.

Radon, crestfallen, lowered his hand just a hair's width away from grazing her trembling shoulder. "But—"

"Leave me alone!" she cried.

The young man flinched away with a hurt expression. He sighed in resignation when he realized nothing he could say or do at the moment would alleviate her grief. It was best just to leave her be and let her deal with it in her own way. Besides, his mother had always told him it was never wise to argue with a lady in distress. More often than not, it tended to exacerbate the situation. Therefore, it was a most reluctant young man who quietly backed out of the bedchamber and shut the door behind him, leaving the weeping girl alone inside.

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_Tsk, tsk…does little Rose carry some kind of a secret even she doesn't know about?_


	7. By Day One Girl, By Night Another

**IMPORTANT A/N: **I should warn you, there is some sexual content in this chapter. It's nothing outright pornographic; it's actually quite watered down from what I had written before. I decided to do some editing and hold off on any graphic sex, which may or may not be included. I will post warnings beforehand and more or less separate the scene (sort of) that way anyone uncomfortable with such things can skip over it if they so wish it. It will not be tasteless smut, of course. I don't write tasteless smut, after all, so there is no reason for it to be that. I also took some artistic license on the customs of Kyrria, since the book really gave us little idea of them. Whatever anyone inferred, this might be different, but I'm not changing it.

This chapter delves deeper into Ellie's character and I think what you may find might surprise some of you. I have no idea where the idea came from, but it was begging to be displayed. So, here it is.

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The world outside her warm blankets could wait just a little bit longer, she decided. The sun was just bestowing its scant rays over the horizon; the stars and sliver moon were still faintly luminous in the purplish-gray sky. She peered blearily through her eyelids at her window. The brocade curtains were richly crafted in deep green with ivory trim. If one looked closely enough, he would see that the trim was not merely a uniform white, but was a band of interwoven curlicues and intricate patterns that always seemed to shift endlessly. It was a fabric crafted by fairies; much like the throw rug in her parents' bedroom. She could not remember why she had ever thought to have the fabric fashioned into curtains for her windows; however, for some reason she could not fathom, the choice seemed oddly appropriate now. She could think of no better place for it.

She shifted under the arm that was draped over her bare body to snuggle closer to the sleeping young man next to her. She allowed his warmth to seep into her own limbs and sighed in contentment tinged with amusement when his body jerked in his sleep. She gazed lovingly at his face—having lost its sudden attack of anxiousness with the jerk of his body—and admired how peaceful he looked. Burnished burgundy curls swept down his freckled face; the hair covering his nostrils steadily moved with the cadence of his breathing. Her normally aloof façade disintegrated into an uncharacteristic soft expression of pure, unadulterated adoration as she watching him intently.

Nothing in her life could compare to just watching the man she loved more than life itself sleep soundly. Everything else around her seemed to shrink in significance; it would all just slowly recede into the background. Out of sight and out of mind for just the time being. There only existed her and her lover. She could escape the wearisome obligations of her duties for a little while when the two of them were alone together. She could put her inevitable destiny of ruling a powerful kingdom out of her mind for a much needed respite. After all, it can become quite tiresome having to be so distant and on guard all the time. Only with him did she feel like she could surrender her internal sentinel and let herself go; only with him did she ever feel like she could truly be herself. And even then, it was only when they were alone together did she feel safe to unleash her self-imposed chains.

Something changed within her when she finally grasped the implications of being the heir apparent to the throne, of being destined to rule. She never admitted it to anyone (not even her lover) but the very prospect had frightened her. It was like a constant cloud of doom hanging over her head. It frightened her to this day, causing her to doubt herself and her ability to rule. She wanted so passionately to make her parents proud—especially her father. She did not, however, let anyone know her fears, her weaknesses. She was to be a leader, _the_ leader, and she could not show any sign of fear of her duties. Otherwise, she would not be the only one doubting herself.

In the process of masking her fear, she had inadvertently distanced herself from those closest to her. Her own brother and sister perceived her as cool and aloof, no longer the playful big sister they knew and loved. No, she was no longer that playful big sister. That big sister had all but perished the day she knew she would one day be Queen of Kyrria. That girl had almost vanished completely from existence when she realized her father would die one day and she would be handed the scepter and crown. That girl lived in a dark place now, entrenched deep within the deepest crevices of her soul where no one could hear her mournful cries.

Only one person could coax that girl out of her deceptive sanctuary. And he was currently stirring from his slumber. She moved her body so as to face him fully and smile as his eyes tentatively opened before shutting again. She suppressed a highly irregular giggle as his eyes slid open again to regard her with annoyance. His eyes were the most luminescent green she had ever seen. Her mother's eyes (which her two younger siblings also had) were a dark, piercing green. Their color was nothing like the color of the eyes adorning the face of the man she loved. His color was lighter and more reflective—giving his eyes an iridescent quality. It was his most defining feature, the feature that caught everyone else's attention.

"Ellie, why must you stare at me when I'm sleeping? It is quite disconcerting," the man grumbled.

Ellie arched a golden eyebrow. "Jasper, you are a hypocrite. How often have I awoken only to have your pretty face hovering over mine?" she countered dryly.

The man propped up on his elbow and threw Ellie an indignant expression. "Pretty? Is that what you think I am? Pretty is for maidens, m'dear. And when have I stared at you in your sleep?"

Ellie snorted in a most unladylike fashion at her lover's attempts to sound affronted. It was a wonder no one was able to figure out what was really going on between the two. She was sure someone would have wised up by now, or, at the very least, spoken their suspicions aloud. She predicted her mother already knew or had at least a decent guess as to what was really going on beneath the scenes. Mandy was the only one whom she knew of that was really privy to the secret affair. After all, where else would Ellie go to for the best contraceptive concoctions? She knew Jasmine did not carry fairy remedies, as these were guarded heavily by the mystical beings. And it was not often that fairies trusted humans, even healers, enough to reveal their identity as an immortal being let alone divulge secrets over their sacred magic and potions. Ellie was lucky enough to have a fairy for a godmother and even luckier for knowing about it.

She knew her cousins suspected a certain chemistry between she and the future High Chancellor—well, she supposed if all went as planned he would actually be future king. Not many things that went on in the palace and on the grounds—even in the city of Frell—escaped her knowledge or notice. Especially when it involved her and her potential romances. She decided, after much contemplation, to allow their mere speculation to continue while she and Jasper laughed over it after passionate lovemaking. It was rather amusing and entertaining to watch those ignorant young kinsmen of hers cheat themselves again and again out of money.

Yes, she also knew about the pool of bets in effect.

_Poor, stupid little boys. _

In response to her lover's question, she leaned forward to kiss him lightly on the lips and whispered, "Just yesterday morning I awoke to those lovely eyes of yours. I did not find it to be disagreeable."

Jasper smiled sheepishly and returned her chaste kiss with a more passionate, heated one. His velvety tongue ignited a fire inside the princess's body; a fire she had no wish to extinguish just yet. "Well, I suppose it is just I who find it rather perturbing. By all means, stare at me to your heart's content when I am awake, though."

Ellie nearly squealed, but held it at the last moment, when Jasper rolled over on top of her, grinning suggestively with the characteristic twinkle in his eye. His hand snaked down her side to caress her thigh, sending shockwaves of sensation through Ellie's body. What would everything think if they knew the stoic crown princess engaged in passionate, carnal acts of love almost every night? Would they believe someone who always projected herself as cold and dispassionate could love so thoroughly; that she could stand the heat of the fire of an emotion like love without being scorched?

Everyday she became the girl who would be queen, the determined heir, and the dedicated servant of the people in the guise of being its future leader. Every night she became the temptress, the vixen, and the lover; most simply, she became a woman with true emotions and true desires that were left to smolder quietly underneath her dusky skin during the day. In essence, she almost lived two lives. One day, she would join them together for all to behold.

Kyrrian society took a rather unique view on its citizens' sexual lives. Having no formal deities to worship, it tended to be more an issue of courtesy and propriety. Neighboring kingdoms tended to live by devout religious customs, but Kyrria had no official religion to speak of. That being so, it basically left the morals surrounding sex (before marriage, after marriage, age differences, and between two persons of the same gender among other aspects) up to the citizens themselves; just as they left the question of religion up to the citizens' themselves.

Kyrrian society frowned upon flaunting one's intimate relationships like a banner; mostly, society would rather not know about it. However, there were always those in society that loved gossip and would spread it like wildfire about which lord took a servant girl to his bed, which duchess kissed a farm boy. Adultery was disapproved; nonetheless, it was a business not of the kingdom as a whole, but of individuals. The ostracism dealt by society was not extremely harsh or long-lived, but long enough to know one had done something Kyrrians as a whole did not condone. If one was not happy in a marriage, one should seek out a way to take care of the situation in ways other than disloyalty.

As for sexual relations before marriage, it was a topic no one really talked about in the open. Traditionalists thought there ought to be a law formally barring couples from copulating before formal vows of marriage and devotion were taken. The fears of the general populace were, of course, for any children born out of wedlock that might not have legitimate claims to property and titles. General belief was that sexual relationships should be reserved for married couples or, at the very least, couples who are planning on marrying. Whatever went on behind closed chamber doors ought to stay behind closed chamber doors, for more reasons than one.

Ellie was obviously not intending to divulge just how far she and Jasper had taken their relationship. Save marriage and children, making love was the farthest one could take a relationship. She and her lover had discussed their options many times, but had yet to reach a consensus. Ellie knew the royal family was by and large the least restrained and inhibited when it came to sex and love. Scandals of the royal family were the subjects of many books and cleverly disguised fictional novels. Ellie really had no wish to become the newest muse for struggling novelists.

As further proof of her double life situation, the Ellie that would be queen always carefully planned ahead and mapped out different backup plans and "escape routes", in a manner of speaking. As Ellie the lover, Ellie the woman, she basically lived for the here and now and gave little thought as to what tomorrow would bring.

Even with the morning sun peaking further over the horizon, illuminating the world outside her bedchamber, the crown princess of Kyrria became yet again the Ellie of the night and let her inner passions consume her completely. Politics and court life could wait for just a little while longer.


	8. Haunted Visions

Forgive the long stretch between updates, but here is chapter eight at last. My lovely reviewers are to be commended for their kind words and support. And, trust me, I love lengthy reviews.

* * *

Rose would not leave her chambers. Tristan was worried and vexed at her sudden change of mind, for he had assumed they had made some progress. He had hoped she would join in the festivities of the Winter Festival as a way to ease herself back into a more social life. He hadn't expected her to venture amongst the bustling, intoxicated crowds for long, but he had certainly been expecting her to be intrepid enough to try. 

Lilly had gone to rouse Rose early in the morning before any royal guests such as their Aunt Cecilia arrived. Tristan had noticed the genial rapport growing between the two, and he was appreciative of Lilly's invaluable help with Rose. Although, there were many times he envied his sister's ease around the girl, for he and Rose seemed to have reached some sort of impasse in their relationship. She was convinced he was over-bearing and he was convinced she was the most difficult patient he had ever had to deal with.

His twin, however, had returned with a grim countenance, and with no Rose to accompany her.

Looking at her brother with a troubled frown, she had informed him, "Rose won't come out. She won't even let me in."

"What? Why not?" he had queried in puzzlement and no small amount of concern.

Unfortunately, Lilly had no answer for him, though she did tell him in a dark voice, "It sounded like she was crying…a lot." His sister's tone bade him think she wished to be in there to comfort her friend.

He immediately walked to Rose's room himself, rapping gently on the door and calling in a tenderly concerned voice, "Rose? It's me, Tristan. Can I come in?"

The sounds may have been extremely muffled by the thickness of the doors, but he could discern the soft sounds of sniffling and weeping within. It took quite a bit of self-control not to swing open the door and march in there to see what was causing her so much grief. Evidently, she wanted to be alone and he was right to assume his presence would hinder her recovery. Nonetheless, it was inordinately frustrating. He was a healer—well, healer-in-training, but it was close enough! She was his patient!

"Just go away," he heard her choke out.

Meeting Lilly's chagrined gaze, Tristan sighed heavily and turned to lean his back against the door. He had considered the option of just leaving her to weep in peace until she felt up to visitors. But he felt his curiosity nagging at him relentlessly, whispering to him of the possibility of Rose retaining a memory or two. If that were the case, it made it even more obvious she should be left alone for a while.

"What are you two doing?" someone asked.

Radon, with a quizzical expression upon his face, ambled up to his two cousins. He did not appear to notice it was the very door he had opened up only hours earlier on his sleepless trek through the palace. He had managed to steal a few hours of sleep, which was apparently enough to keep his countenance from looking exhausted and pale.

"Rose won't come out," Lilly explained. "She's in there crying her eyes out and she won't even let us in to see what's wrong."

At those words, Radon's expression of curiosity visibly darkened into one of sheepish realization. He sighed and twisted his hands nervously, wondering how much ire he could provoke from Tristan when the prince learnt of his midnight visit to his patient's bedroom. Perhaps he could feign as much ignorance as those two and escape unscathed, but he had already done himself in by his own traitorous face. Tristan and Lilly immediately frowned suspiciously at Radon, their identical emerald eyes piercing through his shoddy resolve.

"Radon, what do you know?" Tristan queried sternly.

Lilly was far more vocal. "What did you do now? You just can't stop, can you? You see a pretty new face and you immediately have to break her heart with whimsical words of love and affection!"

Before Radon could get in a word in his defense, Lilly trilled on.

"You certainly worked fast this time. Not even twenty-four hours of knowing her and already you've turned her into a wreck. How could you, Radon? You knew how vulnerable she was, how much she had been through! It's not like she's one of the other court girls who prance around here! She's been hurt!" Lilly cried, her voice rife with righteous anger and disbelief at the crimes she had perceived her cousin committed.

"Lilly—" Radon stuttered anxiously, holding out a hand to placate the incensed princess.

"Lilly, I don't think…" Tristan tried.

Lilly ignored both of them, stalking up to Radon and nearly poking his eye out with her index finger, which she thrust in front of his face. "I'm sick of cleaning up your messes, Radon!"

"Lilly! I didn't do anything!" Radon screamed, startling his cousin into silence. "I was walking around last night because I couldn't sleep and I heard her screaming in her room. I came in to see what was wrong and I saw her thrashing about on her bed."

"She must have been having a nightmare," Tristan noted, comprehension dawning.

"Yes, I woke her up…and that certainly was a treat. She decked me right in the nose in her sleep and lunged away. I didn't think she could have such force for someone so…frail looking. It's a wonder my nose isn't broken," Radon told them. It was then the two siblings noticed his nose was redder than usual and rather swollen.

"Well, after she woke up and got sort of pissed with me about being in her room in the middle of the night…she…erm…told me about her dream." At those last words, Radon reverted back to furtive guilt, trying not to meet his cousins' inquisitive gazes. He had no wish to tell them of this particular dream without Rose's consent. He held no desire to stimulate her anger again.

"What did she tell you?" Tristan asked, the tone of his voice belying his excitement at a possible insight into his patient.

Radon adamantly shook his head and backed away. "I'm sorry, Tris, but I don't think it's my place to talk about this. If Rose wants to tell you, she will when she's ready. But, I have to say, what she dreamt is definitely a good reason for her to stay in her room crying all day."

Tristan cursed in irritated frustration. He understood Radon's reluctance to talk about it, at least, he partially understood. It was hard to sympathize through the haze of his need to know everything about his patient. The thought that he might be so close to a vital clue and was not able to hear it just yet was infuriating.

"Well, could you at least tell me if it was a valid memory?" Tristan asked through gritted teeth.

Radon slowly nodded his head. "In a way…yes, I think it was."

* * *

While the three cousins argued, Rose lay on her bed, her weeping having grown more sedate by now. The swirling memories of the night before and that terrible nightmare had acted as a catalyst to the eventual venting of all her repressed emotions. She had been lingering so long in uncertainty over uncovering her lost memories. She knew she harbored some internal drive that kept urging her to seek out the horrors her mind hid from her. Yet, there were parts of her that wished to remain forever ignorant of her former life, of the terrible incident that had torn people she must have cherished from her. 

Now, everything was different. A child was involved, a child she loved and yearned for even more deeply than she had previously believed. She did not care if the boy was her true son or not, for he was just as important to her either way. She could not longer shirk her memories, those things she pursued and avoided at the same time. She needed to dash away this uncertainty and regain her decisive composure. She needed to find him; she needed to learn what became of him. For better or for worse.

With this brand new platitude in mind, she pulled herself out of her misery and rose to her feet. She walked slowly to her vanity table and peered again at her pitiful reflection. Her face was blotchy and red from her tears, her hazel eyes tinged with redness. Her skin was sweaty, causing her nightgown to cling even tighter to her skin. Her fists clenched, as she struggled to recall how she was supposed to look. What was it Tristan had told her?

He had told her when they first found her she had been quite muscular, but not to the point of overdoing it. Rose lifted up her left hand, noting the thin, fine scars that languished between her thumb and index finger. She fingered that flimsy web of skin bearing the scars, remembering what those scars represented. She had been trained in the arts of war. Perhaps she had been a warrior, or perhaps she had merely dabbled. Who knew? What everyone had been certain of was that she had been in fine shape when they found her and now her figure had diminished severely.

This was the key, she decided. Her memories were ambiguous, but her body was part of the tangible, physical realm. She would focus her energy on what she could easily manipulate first and then move onto the more abstract keys to unlocking her life. It was time to become what she had once been, at least in body if not in mind.

Upon deciding this strategy, she smiled sardonically at her reflection. Her hazel eyes were wiped nearly clean of doubt and fear, having been usurped by resolve and strength. She much preferred this look, for it made her body appear less fragile than before.

She traversed the length of her bedchamber to the door in a few long strides (she ignored the slight twinges in her leg). She flung it open much to the surprise of the bickering trio in front of it. The two boys and the girl backed away and stared incredulously at Rose's scantily clad form. Radon could not help but grin appreciatively before he was elbowed harshly by Lilly. Rose, on the other hand, didn't seem to care how she was dressed.

For Tristan, it was not so much the way she was dressed as it was the look in her eyes. Something had changed within her. Whatever had occurred in that dream had been far more significant than he had foreseen. Gone were those furtive, fearful gleams. Gone was the vulnerability. Gone was the insecurity and doubt. All those negative emotions had been pushed back behind the new vitality he sensed rippling from her.

His mouth dropped agape in amazement. What a magnificent transformation had been wrought! She had always been minutely pretty in a famished sort of manner to Tristan, but now with this new strength flowing from her, she looked like a beautiful, brazen warrior queen. It did not even seem to matter that her actual physical capabilities were probably mediocre at best at the moment, for her presence alone demanded one bow subserviently.

While her brother romanticized the moment in active hyperbole, Lilly took a tentative step forward. "Rose, are you okay?"

Rose met her friend's gaze, taking Lilly aback with her fierce eyes. "Oh, I will be, Lilly. Mark my words, I will be."

* * *

The fairy book was among one of Ella's most treasured possessions. She would spend hours just perusing the enchanted pages, using the item as her window to worlds beyond her reach. When she and her husband went traveling, they always brought the book with them to keep watch over their children. She rather enjoyed spying upon her boisterous twins especially, for when they were young they could be quite the mischief-makers. Now, however, she mostly used the book for sole enjoyment, taking pleasure in whatever it had to show her. Rarely, if ever, did it show her things she would have wished to scour from her memory. 

Unfortunately, the book chose to show her such things on this fair winter morning, when everything should have been festive and bright. She had not even been looking at the book; it lay open on her desk on what had been a wonderful romance story. She had been brushing her long, dark tresses when she heard the pages stir of their own accord. Having never witnessed such a phenomena—but, nevertheless, not overtly shocked, for it was crafted by fairies—she watched with mild curiosity, her hairbrush still raised up in her hair.

When the pages finally rested, Ella slowly approached the book, wondering what significant visions it had to impart to her. She was obviously astute enough about mystical things to know if a book that had never really turned pages on its own was now doing so, it was for a reason. Her bright green eyes centered on the page, eager to see what the tome wanted to show her.

At first, she was only able to discern darkness and the faint outlines of what she surmised were trees. She leaned closer to have a better look. Suddenly, a moving shape appeared through the trees, and the book quickly abruptly changed scenes to follow the shape and give Ella a clearer picture. It was a person, a girl dressed in a fine velvet gown of exotic origin and style. The girl's face was stained with dirt, blood, and tears, and her gown was ripped. It did not seem to impede her running though, for she was swiftly darting around trees and leaping over logs. Her movements were suggestive of the nimble felines, so sleek and agile. She ran in long, forward moving strides, with none of the silly arm-flailing many are wont to do while running.

"Rose," Ella breathed in shock. The book was showing her a glimpse of the terrifying incident that caused Rose to land in their care.

Ella could not hear her, but she could imagine Rose was breathing heavily from exertion and terror just by looking at her face. Her hair appeared to have once been tied up in an elegant braid, but was now loose and practically undone.

Finally, Rose stopped, exhaustion appearing to have overcome her. She leaned against a tree for a quick moment to catch her breath. Ella almost found herself wanting to scream into the book for Rose to keep going, but the child was far too traumatized and tired to move at the moment, it looked. She held her breath as Rose peeked behind her. In that instant, moonlight illuminated the golden chain round her neck, and the diamond shaped charm flung over to her shoulders during the running. Ella could not make out the insignia on the necklace, which was most unfortunate. She had no doubt it would have been a critical intimation to where she had come from.

Again the scene shifted, this time to a far more grotesque picture. Ella's eyes were held fast to the book, as if she were under a spell. She saw a woman with hair as black as midnight and hands that were drenched in blood. In fact, most of her was drenched in blood. There were flecks of blood spattered on her face and all over her chest. The woman appeared to be laughing maniacally.

Ella felt her entire body tremble in spite of the fact that she was only seeing this in a book. She wanted to look away when the woman started to saunter away, because the queen felt that whatever she was to see next would be horrific beyond words. Her eyes, though, continued to stay where they were, barely blinking even.

Ella cried out in disgust mingled with horror, wrenching herself away from the tome and tripping over the hem of her gown in the process. On the floor, she had her eyes squeezed tightly shut, hoping that whatever she had seen had not been real. She had seen rather unspeakable things as she had traveled the world with her husband, but nothing she had seen could come close to what her book had shown her. Her mind could not even conceive of such horrors.

After a few moments of heavy breathing, in which Ella sought to collect her wits, she shakily rose to her feet. Though she would rather not have seen the horrible picture again, her eyes made a cursory sweep of the book just to see if the scene had changed.

The pages were blank. Neither a word nor a picture graced the surface. It was as if the pictures had not been there at all, which Ella fervently wished were the case.

The Kyrrian queen shuddered and swiftly slammed the book shut.


	9. Revelations

Wow, this is notoriously fast for me. Inspiration hit and my imagination flowed from my fingers with rare speed. My muse is practically singing out the rest of the plot to me. From whence it came, I have no idea. From the looks of it, a sequel might be required. But it's too early to confirm that.

Also, I've looked at my stats for once and I see people who have this story on the favorites list and alert list, but have not reviewed. Come on! I'd like to hear from you guys!

* * *

Ella's hand trembled violently as she gulped down an entire goblet full of wine mixed with tonic. Although Mandy visibly scowled in blatant disapproval of the vile mixture of her tonic with an alcoholic drink, she made no comment. Her goddaughter was entitled to imbibe what she wished after what had happened to her. Mandy had only needed her to describe in full detail once, which was a boon since it did not appear the shaken queen was in any condition to recall her hateful memories of those disturbing images once more.

It was a very pregnant silence that fell between the woman and the fairy before Ella finally broke it in a small voice. "If Rose was beset by…things…such as what I saw, then I daresay it is far better for her to never remember. If I were to see them physically…" she trailed off into uncertainty, leaving the possibilities up for conjecture.

Mandy had no interest in pursuing uncertainties at the moment; she was extremely troubled by what her godchild had told her. She knew objects enchanted by fairies began to, in a way, take on a life of their own. They were awakened, so to speak, by the magic of the fairies. This is not to say that they became aware of themselves, or took on inherently sentient qualities, but they sometimes did things quite out of the ordinary even for magical items. If they did, it was for a very good cause. Or, in this case, a very frightening one. Ella had been shown these visions for a reason. The book did not lie, although Mandy was now wishing it was.

The one link they had to grasp on in this debacle was the girl. Rose was the center of this mystery. What had happened to her, who she really was, and where she came from were central to the issue of these grotesque monstrosities. The cackling black-haired woman in the vision had probably been hunting Rose down. And Rose was no ordinary girl. The few months of knowing her and these new revelations had proved her to be someone very important, most likely royalty. The necklace Ella had seen in the images were most indicative of Rose being of royal blood, for many royal houses had some sort of signet depicting their royal house or coat of arms on a piece of jewelry. The simple way of finding out would to be to send out messengers to the farthest lands from Kyrria where they rarely received word to discern if something drastic had occurred within the land. But now, with the possibility that Rose most likely had a hefty price on her head and was, hopefully, believed dead, Mandy was sure it was best to keep quiet about her. They could learn what they could on their own and let Rose do the rest by regaining her memories.

"What are we going to do, Mandy?" Ella asked, her voice wavering with fear and despair. "Those things might come here looking for her. But I can't turn her out! She's an innocent, I'm positive. And my children are fond of her. I'm fond of her. Tristan and Lilly would never forgive us if Char and I were to send her away. But the kingdom might be in peril. How will an army stand against such abominations? I don't even know exactly what they were…and I don't want to know."

Mandy pursed her lips as she considered all their options. What Ella said was very true, but Mandy was sure that keeping Rose around was their best course of action. She could better regain her memories in this environment where she was comfortable rather than another. Her memories were the key. But the mind is a delicate and fickle thing. So delicate and intricate were the minds of sentient beings such as humans that magic could only do more harm than good in most cases. Rose would have to find her memories on her own.

"Have you told anyone else?" Mandy inquired.

Ella shook her head. It had taken weeks for her to work up the nerve to even talk to Mandy about it. She had been so horrified by what she had seen, she scarcely kept her wits about her throughout the festival and afterwards. Her husband and elder daughter were sensitive to the change in the queen's mood, and they both had questioned her about it in concern. Her son and younger daughter eventually caught on in between helping Rose regain her physical strength to the level it had been. She had furnished them with blasé excuses to the point of sounding almost hysterical in asserting over and over again, "I'm fine!".

"You really shouldn't have waited so long to tell me. You must talk to Ellie first, but Char will eventually have to know. This may constitute exposing the truth about me to him. Tristan and Lilly ought to know what you have seen as well," Mandy said grimly.

Ella nodded wordlessly, the significance of Mandy's permission to tell her husband the truth having been temporarily overshadowed by those haunting images. She swallowed the lump in her throat and massaged her forehead. Her voice was rife with sorrow when she murmured, "What of Rose?"

Mandy sighed heavily. "If there's any chance these visions you saw might trigger a memory or two, we must take it. I, as you, am reluctant to force her to relive such terror, but—"

"We don't have a choice," Ella finished solemnly.

* * *

Tristan was amazed at how fast Rose's body was responding to the rejuvenating potions and heavy exercise. Evidently, having gone through more strenuous exercise before had made her body extremely resilient, and easily restored if one was willing to work hard enough.

He, Radon, and Lilly watched in open astonishment as Rose progressed through the simple physical training before moving onto the more intense rounds of weapon and combat training faster than anyone had before. The elfish potions she was taking were intended to speed up the process, and they were certainly doing their job. But Tristan was certain her previous training before she ended up in their care had more of a hand in it.

The body and mind are intimately connected, but the body has another system it relies upon. Instinct. If there had been any doubts about Rose having been trained in the arts of war before, they were certainly obliterated now. Only someone who had gone through the motions before could move through the conditioning so quickly. Even if her mind could not remember, her body certainly did. And it certainly yearned to return to its former strength and form.

"This is incredible," Radon remarked, watching Rose execute a flip-kick back to her feet. "How is she doing all of this? She moves like no…person I've ever seen."

"Her fighting style is very foreign. She's very attuned to using all her limbs like in unarmed combat, but even when she has a weapon in her hand. I know of few places where they teach such methods, and most of them are all far to the North," Lilly commented thoughtfully.

Tristan considered all his sister and cousin had said. His eyes grew wide when his intuition made a connection that should have been made long ago. "That's it! She's from the North! She has to be! The northern borderlands are the only lands we know of that have women trained in combat as well as men. They don't just have the occasional peasant girl foot-soldier like we do."

He wanted to kick himself for not considering that an issue. Why had no one else pointed it out? Had everyone really overlooked that incredibly important aspect? Tristan was certain someone had to have thought of it.

"Tristan, the northern borderlands aren't the only ones who have women trained in combat. There are lands to the south and west that do as well. Her style of fighting is what I believe to be a northern style, but I do not know much about the southern and western styles. It's possible she is from there as well, which I have already considered," Lilly explained. Bearing an intense interest in learning the arts of war herself, she made it a point to know which places regularly trained women and admitted them into their militaries.

"The northern borderlands are extremely far from here. I mean, we're talking month-long journeys on horseback. What the hell would a northern borderlander be doing as far south as Kyrria? Not to mention, why would a northern borderlander be fluent in our language and be familiar to your parents? They've never visited the northern borderlands," Radon added.

Tristan watched Rose somersault under a wooden staff being swung at her by the retired training master. Master Chesno had trained his father and uncles when they had been his own age. Though aged quite a bit since his glory days, he was still remarkably spry and strong. He was more than capable of handling the training of a young woman.

Tristan's mind returned to the few months back when he had dragged Rose's lifeless body from the unforgiving waters of the Lucarno. She had uttered strange words to them before promptly passing out.

"_Never safe."_

_Someone was after you, weren't they? It wasn't just a random bandit attack. You were marked for death, I'll bet. I wonder if they suspect you are still alive. _

In those precious few seconds of consciousness, Tristan knew she had fully remembered everything; she had been totally aware of who she was, where she came from, and what had happened to her. He knew she had not been Rose, but someone else…the real person behind the cover of Rose. This real person was currently lost in the void of amnesia, but, if they played their cards right, she could be recovered and finally solve this mystery for him.

Unbidden, a strange sensation clenched his heart when he thought of Rose disappearing to be replaced by a stranger. It was unpleasant, this feeling, but he dismissed it as immediately as it had manifested. His focus had to be entirely on helping Rose regain her memories and return to where she belonged.

_But she can belong here as well…with you._

The unpleasant sensation from before had returned with a voice. Tristan frowned and tried to dismiss them both, but they stubbornly refused to be turned away. So, with a great amount of will power, he studiously ignored both the voice and the strange sensation.

This was greatly facilitated by the breathless _real_ voice of a blonde youth, dressed in the traditional raiment of a Kyrrian pageboy. He hastily bowed before the princes and the princess and took that time to catch his breath.

"Do you need something?" Lilly asked kindly.

"Your Highnesses, Prince Tristan and Princess Lilliana," the boy addressed in deference, "Her Majesty, the queen, and Her Royal Highness, Princess Eleanor, request your presence in the council room immediately. They ask for Lady Rose to be there as well. They also told me to tell you to make haste, for this is urgent…they said." The boy looked very confused, but he knew better than to question orders from royalty. It was not often he was asked by the queen or the crown princess to do something for them. It had been an honor even to perform so simple a task.

Radon seemed rather disappointed his presence had not been requested. "They did not ask for me?" he asked the youth.

The pageboy shook his head apologetically. "No, Your Highness." He stood ramrod straight before them, one hand customarily held behind his back and the other hanging still at his side. He was waiting for them to dismiss him.

Remembering the protocol they usually never followed, Lilly thanked the youth and then dismissed him. She turned to her brother and cousin with a very quizzical expression upon her face. "What do you suspect they want us and Rose for?" she queried in wonder.

Tristan shrugged, but he felt strangely apprehensive about talking to his older sister in the vicinity of Rose, especially when it most likely concerned Rose. But he had his orders, so it was with reluctance he turned to call for Rose. Radon stopped him by laying a hand on his arm.

"You two go ahead. I'll escort Rose," he proposed lightly. Lilly raised an eyebrow, but remained silent. Tristan appeared far too absorbed with his own thoughts to even care.

Lilly grabbed her brother's arm with one last sidelong glace back at her conniving cousin. The twins walked back to the palace. Radon watched them leave before walking over to Rose. All the while, he kept wondering what it was their mother and sister had to say, and why he wasn't going to hear it. Perhaps a little clandestine skulking and some eavesdropping were to be in his near future.

He smirked at the thought as he approached Rose.


	10. To Hope in Vain or Not At All

This is a chapter rife with subtext about Rose. Enjoy!

* * *

The young woman crouched in her concave shelter, rocking back and forth and crooning to herself. It was a song her mother had sung to she and her brothers when they had been younger. The words flowed into each other fluidly, like the motions of a swiftly flowing river; the tune was as soothing and protective as if it were weaving a wall about her. In a sense, the song was doing just that, but it was in a more abstract manner than a literal one. The activity was a meditative exercise she had learned as a defense against the extreme climate of the mountains. She was steeling her body to bolster its defenses against the howling wind, biting cold, and dry air. It was a way of exerting the powers of the mind over the more easily defined powers of the body. It also enabled a person to condition himself or herself to control emotions and whims with finesse and skill.

The elements of the Guardians were not something to be reckoned with lightly. The Guardians was the name her people had given to the behemoth masses of rock that rose out of the ground to such incredible heights. Some of the peaks stretched so high up into the heavens, no one in living memory had ever laid eyes upon them. Rumors and legends were tossed around about what manner of beings might dwell upon those elusive places, if anything could survive up there at all.

Her eyes slid open after a while, the irises barely discernible due to being nearly the same inky color of her pupils. They were the eyes of a hardened soldier, though the youth of her body might have contradicted such a notion. The last few months had added layers of age onto her otherwise youthful demeanor. She had been transformed from a light-hearted girl to a careworn woman in such a short transition of time. Events outside her control had nearly brought her to her knees from the onslaught of grief, shock, and rage. Anguish and misery were becoming so normal to her world that she was finding it harder and harder to remember a time when such emotions had been distant and remote.

This was why she was here, shivering from the remorseless cold of the Guardians' weather. This mission was a last-ditch effort to rejuvenate her battered people. It was crazy, it was probably doomed to failure, it was more than likely hopeless—these were all things her friends had told her in their own efforts to dissuade her from going. Her brother had begged on his knees for up to an hour. He had pleaded for her to let go of this ill-fated task and stay with them. But the words would haunt her every waking dream. They would attach themselves to the whispers on the wind. They would rise and fall in the shadows of darkness.

"Grisel…our only hope…you must…go to Kyrria. In Kyrria dwells our only hope. Find it and bring it back."

A pearly tear formed at the corner of her eye and slipped down the almond-colored skin of her cheek. Those words had been spoken aloud only once, and even then they had been difficult to understand, but every syllable had been engraved into her mind. She could not forget them even had she wanted to. She drew in a deep, shuddering breath as grief seeped through her crumbling resolve. Here, in the rocky confines of the Guardians, she finally felt safe enough to vent her cumbersome load of misery.

"Navan," she cried softly, the name causing her throat to constrict with grief.

Navan had been her betrothed, her soul mate, her lover, her confidante, and her best friend. All those things he had been to her, but he had been something more to their people. He had been born with a rare and dangerous gift: the gift of foresight. The royal archives had few records of true Seers, but from childhood Navan had been confirmed as a bona fide carrier of the Sight. His parents had received the news with mixed emotions. They were wealthy merchants and had much to offer their son in their own right, but to serve their emperor as a Seer went beyond their dreams. However, it was common knowledge what a burden the gift of foresight could be. To see visions of the future could be a boon, but they could also be a curse, liable to drive a person mad just by carrying such knowledge. There were times when Navan could prevent something terrible from happening by use of his visions. Grisel ought to know, for her life had been spared three times because of her lover's gift.

The darker half of the "gift" lay in the fact that there were times when the gods of fate had made their decision and were not to be defied. Navan had always been of a far more peaceful personality than Grisel. He was extremely sensitive to the needs of others, and was loathe to cause another pain. How he fell in love with a soldier, Grisel would never understand. Her life was built upon the choices of kill or be killed, be the predator or be the prey. Navan had made it his own personal vow to never take another life, no matter how evil and depraved such a life could be. He refused the all but mandatory military training every young person was to participate in once he or she reached the age of twelve. Grisel had been trained earlier than that once she had shown aptitude at a young age. She could not escape her destiny of being a warrior, but Navan was adamant he not be subjected to learning the practice he scorned. Because of his gift, the emperor had allowed the boy to forego his training.

Because he refused to physically harm another person, he suffered terribly when he did not foresee something (his visions were not linear nor predictable) or when he was unable to prevent a certain vision from coming to pass. Grisel remembered the times when she had held him in her arms, softly singing sweet songs of love and peace to soothe away his guilt. She and Navan had been so completely different from one another, that no one would have guessed he would have one day proposed marriage to her in front of an entire court of people. She was an outspoken, lethally trained soldier with no special gifts save for her own fortitude, strength, and keen eyes. He was a reticent pacifist with foresight who usually cloistered himself away in the library.

The memory of his beautiful blue eyes sweeping up from a book to meet her own onyx orbs caused a massive flood of tears. She clenched her hands tightly. Her sharp nails bit into her soft palms, but she didn't care. The slight pains of her fingernails pricking her skin were nothing compared to the pain enveloping her heart. She literally felt pain every time her heart beat, every time she drew breath, every time she exhaled. All those typical processes meant that she was alive when Navan would no longer perform such mechanical, mundane things again. Her soul felt suspended over some gaping abyss, teetering over the decision of whether or not it should join its mate or live on without it. She had found no cure for these wretched feelings ever since that night her lover died in her arms.

* * *

Navan was waiting for her in her room, quietly sitting on her bed with an unreadable expression upon his face. His pale cheeks were flushed; his blue eyes were fever bright. She should have known right from the start that something was very wrong. Even her instincts, which had been nurtured from the earliest years of childhood to seek out danger, had caught onto it. But she had not heeded them. She had been so exhausted from the daily violence and horrors she was forced to endure, all she had wanted to do was curl up in his arms and sleep. Things had not always been so chaotic in her land, but, of course, things have a habit of changing…and sometimes not for the better. Unfortunately, that night, no rest was to be had.

He politely asked for her to sit down beside him. His tone of voice scared her even more than his strange, glowing appearance. His tone sounded strangely resolute, but with a subtle undertone of sadness and fear. She had hesitantly obliged his wish, her brow furrowed in perturbed puzzlement.

"Grisel," he began, his voice heavy with sorrow, "I fear this is the last night you and I will ever have together, my love."

Fear clutched her heart. Had her death been foreseen once again? Was this fourth time, instead of the third, to be the charm? She took his hand into her own, lacing his fingers with her fingers. Their skin colors were so deeply contrasting, with his so close to white and hers the color of dark brown almonds.

"Navan, what do you mean? Have you had a vision of me…" she trailed off, not particularly sure she wanted to know if she was fated to die or not.

"No," he asserted. "It is not you. It is I."

She froze at those words. She could not decide which was worse, hearing of her own death (which she had heard three times before) or hearing him predict his own for the first time. She was a soldier. Death was an aspect that wholly encompassed her career, especially in wartime. She had been prepared to accept her end for quite some time, or so she believed. Either way, she really had no choice. She and Navan both implicitly understood her position in life and how precarious it was. That being so, they treasured each moment together, knowing full well any mission Grisel was sent on could be her last.

His death was something she had not prepared herself for. He lived a relatively sheltered and secure life within the palace. Of course, their situation was drastically different now than it had been only a scant few months ago, but his position was still far more secure than her own. Had she made a terrible error in judgment? Was Navan's life in more danger than she had suspected?

"You? Navan, did you foresee your own death? How? By whose hand?" She spouted off question after question. She had no intention of standing by and letting her lover die if she could stop it.

He had taken her hand and held it up to his chest. She swallowed hard as she felt the thumping of his heart. It took a few moments for her to realize there was something wrong with the rhythm of his heart. It was beating unusually fast, and, had she been a healer, she would have sensed the irregularities in the rhythm. As it were, she could only sense the speed with which his heart was beating. She knew, with her limited medical knowledge, that it was unnaturally fast…too fast. Dread surged through her.

"Navan," she said slowly and harshly, not taking her eyes off her hand lying against his chest. "What have you done?"

He met her eyes. His serene sapphire gaze frightened her more than if his gaze had held fear or anxiety. She shook her head slowly, mouthing soundless words of denial. Her hand began to shake violently, but he held it steady. She felt like she should move, run for a healer or somebody who would be more useful than she. But she felt anchored to the spot, like her entire body weighed as much as a giant block of marble.

"I did what I had to," he firmly answered. His voice sounded less substantial now, like it was losing strength. "It was the only way, Grisel."

His eyes were no longer so calm. They were pleading with her for understanding. Panic was beginning to leach out her immobility, enabling her to wrench her hand away and leap to her feet. Her dark eyes were wild with fear and desperation.

"What did you do?" she choked out.

"Going for a healer will not help. This poison has no cure, and there is no time left to draw it from my veins. It's a slow-acting draught. It takes about fourteen hours, so I took it this morning to give me enough time to set my affairs in order. I only have about fifteen minutes left. I knew you could stop me if I was to use a weapon…and I needed to talk to you before I died. And I…" his voice faltered for a moment before finding itself again. "I don't want to die alone." This was the first time he allowed the fear he had been shielding from her to show.

Her jaw dropped and she had to grasp the bedpost to steady herself. Her head whirled around wildly as she struggled to comprehend all her betrothed was saying. Suddenly it was she who was having trouble breathing, she whose heart rate was beginning to race, she who was starting to sweat. There was a deafening sound of roaring in her ears that made it incredibly difficult for her to set her thoughts straight. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, feeling tears burn the backs of her eyelids. When she opened them she was able to let out one word.

"Why?"

"Grisel, please sit down," he asked. He gently latched onto her arm and tugged her down to sit beside him again. He grasped each cheek to force her to look at him. Tears were leaking through her eyes, which she had shut tightly again in a vain attempt to stem the tide. "Look at me, love."

It took all of her strength to open her eyes and face him with the knowledge she now had. Her body trembled from withheld sobs. She had already suffered so much loss, so much pain, and so much grief. Why was he only adding to her quota? Why had he taken it upon himself to take his own life? In the midst of these silent questions, she had raised a hand to cover one of his lying on her cheek.

"Grisel, I did not foresee _this_. I don't know if this is the way my death was fated or if I am somehow cheating fate by taking it into my own hands in this manner. Usually when I cheat fate, it involved avoiding death, not welcoming it. And believe me, I don't welcome this. If there were any other way, I would have taken it, but, unfortunately, we're dealing with a narrow time frame here. This was the only path I could take to ensure yours and the empire's safety. You know that I love you more than anything, and this is why I'm doing this," he explained softly.

"Only way? What are you talking about, Navan?" she asked, her voice cracking.

His expression became hard and venomous, a stark contrast from before. "That _bitch_ who dares to think she is the rightful successor to the emperor…that vile, wretched sorceress who besmirches the practice of magic with her abominations will use me against you…against the people. This is my final act of defiance, and an ironclad insurance that my _gift_ will not be used to harm you or our people."

Grisel drew in a deep breath and grappled with a response. "How…how would she use you against us? What makes you think she's—?"

"She's already been trying to exert her influence, and she's been growing impatient…dropping hints here and there about what she'll do to me if I don't submit. I'm not as strong as you, Grisel. I haven't been trained to withstand torture and I haven't the stamina for it. I know she will eventually wring something out of me, if not physically, then magically…and I could not bear it if someone were to be hurt…if you were to be hurt because of it. As long as I am alive, you and the empire are in greater danger because of it. The things I could come to know through foresight could spell the end of her bloody reign, and she knows it. And with the vision I had four nights ago, now I know I cannot waste anymore time." Navan was beginning to weaken, but there was still a degree of strength to his voice. The strength of his passion for freedom and inherent decency was affording him the reserves of strength he needed to tap into.

Grisel tried to focus on one thing at a time. She knew her lover was dying right in front of her, though the poison he took was a rather merciful one, as the only ills it caused its victims—besides death—were a mild fever and a fast, irregular heartbeat. It was a perfect disguise, as someone would merely think himself ill in the normal manner. Death was peaceful and relatively painless, the victim usually fell into a deep sleep and eventually slipped away. However, if she wanted his death to mean anything, she would have to push away Grisel the lover, and let Grisel the loyal servant of the empire take command.

"Vision? What vision?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice calm. Before she got an answer, however, Navan lurched forward, his strength finally failing out.

"Navan!" she cried in anguish, the soldier in her once again being pushed aside. She caught him before he hit the floor and pulled him into her arms. She moaned in anguish, rocking back and forth. "Stay with me, Navan. You…you can't leave me here alone. I've lost my father, my mother, my brother, one of my best friends, now you're being taken from me."

Navan slowly opened his eyes. The golden hair upon his forehead was now drenched with sweat. His skin was very warm and clammy, but it was still the skin she had loved to caress and feel against her own. "I know, Grisel. I'm so sorry to do this to you after you've lost so much already…and she was my friend too. This is why I am asking you to do this. For her, for your father, for your mother, for your brother…and for me."

She could feel him slipping away. Each second that passed was one less second she had to hear his voice and gaze into his eyes. Every one of them was precious. "Do what? The vision, Navan! You have to tell me your vision!"

He sucked in a breath. It felt to Grisel like he was trying to suck in more strength as well. "No time for that…you must go to Kyrria."

Of all the things she had expected to come from his mouth, that had not even been anywhere near the vicinity of the list. She frowned in confusion, wondering if he was growing delirious in his final moments. She knew _of_ Kyrria, but it was so far to the south that she only knew it was a kingdom that existed and nothing more. She was no cultural scholar who spent a lifetime learning about cultures she would probably never see with her own eyes. She was obviously capable of getting there by herself, as her father had been a renowned tracker and explorer who had taught his three children all he knew. And she knew how to use a map competently. That took care of the how, but it didn't take care of the why.

"Kyrria? Why must I go to Kyrria? I don't even speak the language! I know nothing about Kyrria…except that it exists," she exclaimed, fearing she had misunderstood.

His breathing became increasingly labored; he was fighting to remain conscious through the haze of lassitude that had gripped him. Grisel held him to her, whispering his name over and over and asking him what he wanted her to do. Her tears dripped onto his face to mingle with his sweat.

"Please," she begged. "Try to stay with me. Don't leave me here. I love you." Her words were futile and she knew it, but she could think of nothing else to say.

He smiled weakly. "Grisel…our only hope," each pause was punctuated by a gasp for air. Just speaking was sapping the strength from him. He could not hold out much longer. "You must go to Kyrria. Our only hope dwells in Kyrria. You must find it and bring it back…before it is too late."

He let out a whoosh of air before his eyes rolled back into his head and his body became limp in Grisel's arms. She let loose a keening wail. She shook him violently, crying out, "Hope? Tell me what you mean! Navan, wait! Wake up! Please…no!"

Navan was not dead yet, but never again would he awaken. Grisel would never hear her beloved's voice again save in her fondest dreams and memories. Oddly enough, her sobs and wails had frozen within her throat, as if she too had descended into an incurable coma along with her lover. As the rest of the night passed, she sat there with Navan dying in her arms, never uttering a word or looking up from his face.

* * *

She had lived, in the days proceeding, as a wraith; benumbed and withdrawn. Her friends and remaining brother were confounded and concerned, fearing she might attempt to take her life. True, had some peril been waiting in the shadows to take her, she would have been in no condition (emotionally) to fight it, but she did not intentionally seek out death. She had lost all sense of feeling for a while; a hypnotic daze had fallen upon her. It was as if her soul and body had not yet registered the shock of her recent loss.

After a while, Navan's dying wish had begun to coax Grisel out of her melancholic shell. She fixed upon his words like her lodestar, her guidance in this maze of grief and anguish she had found herself hopelessly lost in. She had not cried after his death, not once. She placed barriers between herself and the searing pains within, for there was much she had to do in order to make this journey. She separated herself from her emotions—severed all ties—for the time being, for the sake of her task, which had just reached monumental significance. Rumors had been flitting through the streets, rumors that had deeply tapped into her fellow countrymen's waning hope.

The rumors were saying not all bodies had been accounted for.

Grisel did not dare to let herself become transfixed by these words, or ponder on them too long, for she knew vain hope could be as devastating as no hope at all. However, she could not help but wonder what Navan had really been trying to say when he kept telling her hope existed in the faraway realm of Kyrria. Were the rumors and his own words of prescience mere coincidence? For rumors were just that—rumors. There was not a grain of evidence to be found that could back them up—unless she was willing to make connections between the rumors and her dead lover's words. But in Kyrria? The fact that this kingdom, so distant and already so alien to her, held the hope she and her people needed so badly was enough for her to dismiss the rumors. Consciously, she dismissed them. Her subconscious mind was not to be so easily thwarted, however. Like most of her compatriots, she subliminally clung to such a chance, as impossible as it might sound.

Perhaps vain hope really _was_ better than no hope at all.


End file.
